


A Different Path

by dreamofroses



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Elves, Elvhen Language, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fade Rifts, M/M, Mage-Templar War, Mages, Spies, The Breach (Dragon Age), Twins, rogue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofroses/pseuds/dreamofroses
Summary: When word reaches the Lavellan clan that the Divine will host peace talks between the mages and templars, their Keeper decides that she will send her First to spy on them in order to prepare her clan for whatever the future may hold. His twin, however, isn't convinced that he's up to the task and insists on tagging along. What will the pair do when Conclave explodes, opening the Breach?Note:Keep an eye on the tags and warnings (maybe even rating). They will change to match what exists in the story as it is posted. *Relationships are a bit of an exception, but side romances may be added later. I don't want to tag for what's not there yet.





	1. Headwaters

**Author's Note:**

> For this chapter and this chapter only, I will be rendering Elvhen in English, aside from some names, because Elvhen is all that is being spoken and I don't feel confident enough in my skills to write it properly. Once my elves are in mixed company, however, I plan to use Elvhen (however poorly) to highlight the different languages being used.

It was already dark when Keeper Istimaethoriel called the meeting. The work for the day was done and the littlest ones had long since been put to bed. Even the older children were getting drowsy, sitting around the cozy fires as their parents socialized.

When the clan gathered, they arranged themselves with like members. Families sat with families, healers with healers, crafters with crafters, and hunters with hunters. They were rowdy and talkative until the Keeper raised her hand for peace and the assembled fell quiet.

“It has taken me a long time to come to this decision,” she said, “but I think it is for the best. The mage-templar war rages across Thedas and I shudder to think how far its effects will reach.” Istimaethoriel shook her head, “Have already reached. I do not know how many of you have heard, but the White Divine of the human Chantry has called a meeting between the templars and the mages for peace talks. I know that some of you wonder why I take so much interest in human affairs. Leave the humans to the humans, you say. Well, I cannot blame you for thinking that way, but I cannot agree. Whatever is decided at these peace talks will have grave consequences for all of the Dalish, no matter how far we keep ourselves from humans. I have, therefore, decided to send someone to observe these talks and bring back news of what happened there so that our clan at the very least can prepare for what is to come.”

The clan erupted in chatter, elves discussing with their neighbors what they thought of this. Some agreed. Some disagreed. Some kept their ideas to themselves. A young woman sitting toward the front of the hunters was glaring at the ground, hands clenched into fists on her knees. Her jaw was tight and her brows knit, warping the dark purple Mythal’s tree on her forehead.

Istimaethoriel held up her hand again and the crowd grew silent.

“As this is a delicate mission, I have decided that I can ask none other than my First to undertake it.”

A young man stood among the crowd and bowed his head in respect to the clan and to the Keeper. He had soft, narrow features that were not quite androgynous and pale blue eyes that reflected white in the firelight. The mark of Dirthamen on his face looked strikingly black against his fair features in the shadows.

“It is my honor to undertake this mission for the clan,” he said.

“This is wolfshit!” the hunter woman spat out.

“Ny’ari!” a middle-aged woman with the mark of Sylaise snapped. “Have some respect.”

The hunter, Ny’ari, stood. “With all due respect, _Mamae_ , Keeper.” She bowed to each in turn. “This is wolfshit.”

Istimaethoriel pursed her lips as she looked Ny’ari up and down. She had the same narrow features as the First, but more feminine. Her eyes were midnight blue rather than frost, but she had the same thick black hair even if it was longer and much wilder than the neat, close cut the First kept.

“Go on,” the Keeper finally said.

“You want to send Suran, of all people, out into the heart of human lands to _spy_ on the most volatile peace talks in an age? Weren’t those the words you used to describe it the other day? And you want to send Suran there? A mage? Into a den of templars? A mage who has never left the safety of the clan? Who has done nothing but study his whole fucking life? You’re going to get my brother killed! With all due respect.”

“And who would you have me send?” Istimaethoriel asked.

“Someone who can fight,” Ny’ari answered. “Someone who can hide. Someone who’s not going to attract the attention of every templar there.”

“Someone like you, perhaps,” Istimaethoriel said.

“If necessary,” Ny’ari replied and set her jaw. The hunters behind her raised their voices in approval of her candidacy.

“We shall let the clan decide,” Istimaethoriel said. “They have the right to say who will be their representative.”

A vote was called and it came out dead even, but for Istimaethoriel’s vote. She looked Ny’ari in the eye for several seconds and then turned her gaze on Suran, who bowed once more.

“As I said, it is my honor,” Suran said.

“I will _not_ let you send my brother out there alone!” Ny’ari yelled.

“I never said he had to go alone,” Istimaethoriel replied calmly.

*****

“Don’t worry, Mae,” Ny’ari as she hoisted her pack onto her back. “We’ll be back before you even start to miss us. And I won’t let this idiot get into any trouble along the way.” She elbowed Suran playfully.

“Yeah,” Suran agreed, rubbing the place where Ny’ari had hit him. “Our Ny’ari’s like a courser hound. So, unless something worse than Fen’harel is going to be there, I think I’m safe.”

Suran’s mother gave her son a stern look. “It is not appropriate for a First to blaspheme so.”

“I’m sorry, Mae,” Suran said. “I only meant to lighten the mood.”

His mother sighed. “Just…both of you come back to me safe.” She opened her arms and her children gave her a farewell hug together. “Creators protect you, both of you.”

“I’m sure they will,” Suran said and Ny’ari grunted in agreement.

Their mother walked with them to the edge of camp and then the siblings continued on alone. Ny’ari gathered flowers as they walked until she had a nice little bouquet, which she tied together with a piece of twine from her pocket. Her brother watched her but did not comment on her actions.

When they reached the statue of Fen’harel, Ny’ari stopped and placed the flowers on its base. She looked up at the face of the wolf and sighed, then she turned and continued on her way.

“Do you do that _every_ time you leave camp?” Suran asked after they’d walked for a little while.

“No,” Ny’ari answered. “Usually, I only do that on my way back into camp. It’s just… I thought we could use a little more protection on this journey.”

“Good idea,” Suran said. “We don’t need Fen’harel chasing us around on top of everything else.”

Ny’ari didn’t answer.

*****

“My feet hurt so much, I think I’m going to die,” Suran complained as he and Ny’ari set up their camp for the night just outside the valley of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“You’re ridiculous,” Ny’ari said.

“At least, we’re there,” Suran said. “Tomorrow we’ll sneak inside and figure out what these peace talks are all about.”

“If your throbbing feet don’t alert the guards,” Ny’ari answered sarcastically.

“Ha,” Suran laughed tonelessly.

“You’re an insult to the Dalish, you know,” Ny’ari said. “We’re always walking. How do you have such delicate feet?”

“Ask your breakneck pace,” Suran answered.

He started a fire while his sister got out the food and ale. They ate in silence, their journey having made them too hungry to converse in the presence of food. They went to sleep shortly thereafter in consideration of the long day that lay ahead of them.

Ny’ari woke early the next morning and shook her sleeping brother, but he didn’t wake. She smiled and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. She curled his sleeping fingers around it and lay his hand back down on his chest.

“I’m sorry, little brother,” she said, “but it’s better this way.”

She started the fire again with enough wood on it to last until he woke, then began her descent into the valley.


	2. Suran, The Wrath of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here begin my clumsy attempts at using Elvhen. A multitude of thanks to FenxShiral for creating Project Elvhen, without which I would have quit before I even began. It is an amazing resource and a fascinating read. I am in your debt.

Suran woke with a start at the sound of a great blast. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled for his staff. He brandished the staff before him and waited for the enemies to appear, but nothing came. In the immediate aftermath of the blast, the world was silent.

In that moment, Suran realized two things. One: Ny’ari was gone. Two: He held a note in his hand.

He uncrumpled the paper, unwittingly crushed in his grasp, and read his fool sister’s assertion that it was better if only one of them infiltrated the temple and that she should be the one to go because she had better stealth and wasn’t a target for templars.

Suran crushed the note again in his anger. “Fenedhis!” he cursed at the empty air.

He went to look down into the valley and…it was gone. The entire valley was gone in flame and rubble. Above where it had been, there was a great green tear in the sky. Green spots like infection dotted the destroyed landscape and fires raged all around.

The color drained from Suran’s face. “Ny’ari…” he whispered.

Infection rained down from the gash in the sky and one bolt landed about ten feet down from where Suran stood. The ground bubbled black and green and a demon arose from it. Suran let out a little laugh of terror and took two steps back, gripping his staff tightly. Then he unleashed the first spell that came to mind. Then another and another until the demon was reduced to a pile of ash on the ground.

Suran quickly began grabbing anything that was important from camp and shoving it in his pack. He couldn’t take everything because Ny’ari wasn’t there, but he got as much as he could. He hoisted the pack up on his shoulders and grabbed his staff then started off to find someone, anyone, who knew what was going on and if Ny’ari was alive.

*****

“Su an’banal i’ma!” Suran yelled as yet another demon exploded. _To the Void with you!_ He’d been screaming curses at demons all day, like a fortification for his spells, and now his voice was hoarse with it.

“Ehn’tamahn?” a male voice called out, causing Suran to flinch. _Who is there?_

Suran had encountered nothing but shrieking demons all day so he was not expecting to hear an intelligent voice, and most certainly not one speaking Elvhen.

“Marni!” he replied, as soon as his wits came back to him. _A friend!_ He looked around for the speaker but saw no one. Who was this stranger? Had another Keeper had the same idea as Istimaethoriel and sent someone to spy on the peace talks?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when an elf appeared from behind a large crop of boulders that had been displaced by the bolts from the rift in the sky. The man was a mage, and a rather wild looking one at that, with a shaved head, a patchwork of clothing, and an animal’s jawbone for a necklace. Suran wasn’t quite sure what to make of him but one thing was certain, judging by his bare face, he was not Dalish.

“Ahnsul ane amhan?” the man asked. _Why are you here?_ He wasn’t Dalish, but he spoke the language like he was. Suran just stared at him until he repeated his question.

“Asa’ma’lin…” he said and looked in the direction of the destroyed valley. _My sister…_

The strange mage followed Suran’s gaze. “Var ma,” he said. “Elas tua’banal amhan.” _Leave. There is nothing you can do here._

Suran blinked at the strange elf in disbelief, but the stranger appeared serious. “Te’i’tel asa’ma’lin,” Suran ground out and gripped his staff, prepared for a fight if necessary. _Not without my sister._

The strange elf gestured toward the former valley. “Ga’lin’tamahn’din,” he said. “Nere.” _Everyone there is dead. Probably._ His expression turned dark with the last word.

“Nere te’re mathal,” Suran replied. _Probably isn’t enough._ He swung his staff into its holster on his bandolier and started in the direction of what he suspected were the human fortifications. The stranger followed him.

“Jugaras mar’len dalem,” he warned. _You will get yourself killed._

“On’el’dinan o’asa’ma’lin’ha’lam’shiran,” Suran said. _Better I die than abandon my sister._ He put his hand in his pocket and squeezed the crushed ball that was Ny’ari’s note.

The elf walking beside him just shook his head at that.

“Ahn o’ma?” Suran asked. _What about you?_

The elf laughed quietly. “De omasha.” _I will be fine._

“I ara,” Suran said. _And so will I._

The strange elf had nothing to say to that and so they continued on in silence, going the same direction but not as companions.

The elves were set upon by a rather larger group of demons under a floating orb of greenness that looked like a smaller version of the rift in the sky. They worked together to take down the group and Suran had to admit he was impressed with the stranger’s mastery of the magic he wielded, though he felt that he held his own in the battle—which was impressive in itself for a mage who had never used magic as a weapon before.

No sooner had they killed the last demon, however, than the rift spawned more. And then again when the second batch had been dispatched.

“Uthaan’min,” the stranger said. _This is endless._

“Vindirthan,” Suran replied. _I agree._

They waited for an opening in the demons’ attacks and they fled the area. The demons did not give chase far, remaining close to the rift where they had spawned.

When they stopped running, they were in an area that was a little clearer than the rest. There was a bridge set into the cliffs not far off and much human activity around it. They had found the human camp.

“Arla’dar ma,” the stranger told Suran. _Go home._ He started in the direction of the camp.

Suran shook his head with a sigh and followed the stranger. He wasn’t sure what the elf’s problem was and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do what he was told.

As soon as they set foot in the human camp, they were surrounded by soldiers. The other elf immediately turned over his staff and Suran had no choice but to do the same.

They were taken, unbound but closely watched, to a tent where an ominously hooded woman conferred with a man in heavy armor.

“These two elves walked right into our camp,” one of the soldiers reported.

The hooded woman and the armored looked over the situation and the woman said something too quietly for Suran to hear. Whatever it was, the man nodded his agreement.

“Separate them,” the woman instructed.

*****

Suran waited alone in a tent with only a surly guard who had rebuffed his every attempt at conversation with a grunt or a glare for a companion. It felt like hours upon hours had passed but, judging by the light that came through the flap when the hooded woman entered the tent, Suran suspected that he had vastly overestimated the time he’d spent there.

“I do not know him at all,” he told the woman immediately, referring to the strange elf. “We met on our way here.”

“I know,” the woman said.

Of course, she did and likely dozens of other things as well. There would be no point in keeping secrets from this woman, especially not considering the demon-spouting hole in the sky. He was a mage, an apostate, and the more cryptic he was, the more she would suspect he had something to do with it.

“My name is Suran Lavellan,” he told her. “I am the First of Clan Lavellan. Ah…that means—”

“I know what that means,” the woman said. “Let me ask the questions.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Sorry,” Suran said.

“You are from Clan Lavellan,” the woman said. “Where are they camped right now?”

Suran took a slow, steadying breath. “Just outside of Wycome.”

“In the Free Marches? You are a long way from your people,” the woman said.

“Yes, well… We heard about the Conclave and…” Suran trailed off.

“And?” the woman prompted.

“And our Keeper said that we should send someone to observe as the outcome could affect all mages in Thedas, not only those of the Circles,” Suran admitted.

“Observe? You mean spy,” the woman said.

“We meant no harm,” Suran said.

“But you weren’t in the valley,” the woman commented.

“How do you know?” Suran asked.

“Everyone in the valley is dead.”

“Everyone?” Suran couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t true. Ny’ari couldn’t be dead. His mind rejected the very notion of a world without her. “Da’asa’ma’lin…”

“What did you say?” the hooded woman asked.

“My sister,” Suran said. “When we arrived, she became worried that I might be in danger from the templars so she left me behind and went into the valley herself.”

He took Ny’ari’s note from his pocket and handed it to the woman. She looked it over intently, then looked back up at Suran.

“I will return shortly,” she said and she left with the note.

Alone again with his guard, Suran tried to piece together the shape of the hole Ny’ari’s death left in his life. It was so big that he found it difficult to recognize what remained. How would he ever tell his mae that he let Ny’ari die?

The hooded woman returned. “I believe your story,” she said. “You are free to go.”

“May I have my note back?” Suran asked.

“Unfortunately, we need it,” the woman replied.

“What? Why?”

“I cannot tell you that,” the woman said. “As for your staff, it will be returned to you when you leave our camp.”

*****

Suran stood outside the tent, mostly out of the way, and stared up at the rift in the sky. He tried to force a numbness over the sharp pain of his loss, but it didn’t fit. He clenched and unclenched his hand in his empty pocket.

That note had been all he had left. Certainly, most of Ny’ari’s things were back with the clan, tightly packed up in their aravel next to his own things, and that would be another knot of pain to face when he returned, but until then… He had salvaged so little in his flight from their camp.

“Well, what d’ya know, there’s an elf. Are you a prisoner here, too?”

Suran turned to see a red-headed dwarf with a crossbow. If the dwarf was surprised to see him, he was just as surprised to see a dwarf in the human camp.

“Hey, Blue,” the dwarf said, “are you in there?”

“Excuse me?” Suran asked.

“I asked if you were a prisoner here, too,” the dwarf said.

“I, ah…”

“I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, anyway,” the dwarf said, looking up at the rift. “Are you gonna stay to help out with the demons?”

The rift convulsed and grew and it occurred to Suran that he was never going to make it home before the world ended. If he was going to spend his last days or possibly hours far from home regardless, he might as well stay here and pitch in. That was what Ny’ari would do—take out as many demons as possible before she went.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I like your style, Blue,” the dwarf said. “Varric Tethras is the name, by the way.” He held out his hand in greeting.

“Suran Levallan,” Suran replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it. “Unfortunately, they took my staff when I came here, so I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Hm,” Varric said, clearly thinking. “Hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.”

So, Suran waited and he watched the comings and goings of the human soldiers until Varric returned triumphantly with his staff.

“How did you get that?” Suran asked.

Varric shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“The staff or your ability to get it?” Suran asked.

“Aw, hell, why not both?” Varric replied. “Now it’s time to go offer our services.” He led Suran straight to the armored man who had been conferring with the hooded woman and was now assembling a squad. “Need some help?”

The man turned to them. “Oh, the dwarf and…” He just looked at Suran suspiciously. “Did Seeker Pentaghast give permission for you to join us?”

“Can you afford to spare us if I say she didn’t?” Varric asked.

The man sighed.

“There’s your answer.”

“Just…no funny business. Understood?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Curly,” Varric replied.

With that, Suran and Varric went out with the soldiers to fight demons.

*****

By the time night fell, Suran had lost count of how many demons he had defeated, but he was pretty sure that Varric had a running tally of everyone’s kill count. He didn’t know what he thought about that. He didn’t know what he thought about much of anything anymore.

The Breach—that was what they were calling it now—kept growing by fits and spurts and every time it expanded, more demons took to the field. Suran knew they were only demons and that their deaths meant a little extra time for real people, but each one that went down made his staff feel heavier in his hands.

The forward camp was _mostly_ secured now and the human commander had thanked them, however gruffly, for their help. He was a templar and Suran wasn’t sure how to deal with that information. He’d never met a templar before but he’d heard stories, bad stories. He couldn’t say he wasn’t uncomfortable in the man’s presence now. No matter, Suran and Varric were to go to Haven at first light.

“Hangin’ in there, Blue?” Varric asked as they settled around a fire with their rations.

“Eh,” Suran replied, not sure of what to say. He was somewhere between certain that the dying shrieks of the demons would keep him awake until the world ended and ready to pass out from exhaustion where he sat.

“It gets easier,” Varric said.

“Why do you say that?” Suran asked.

“It’s pretty obvious that you’ve never killed anything on purpose before,” Varric answered, “so I wanted you to know that it will get easier if we live through the night.”

“Am I that bad?”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘bad’,” Varric said. “‘Innocent’ is better.”

“I see…” Suran sighed and closed his eyes. So, it wasn’t only Ny’ari who saw that in him.

“Don’t let it get you down, Blue,” Varric said. “You’ve been kicking some serious demon ass, all things considered.”

“Thank you,” Suran said.

“Now hurry up and finish eating so we can get to bed before all the comfortable pieces of dirt get taken.”


	3. Solas, The Wrath of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A certain egg proved surprisingly difficult to write. I hope the result is not too out of character.

It was a disaster surpassed only by his first blunder. Corypheus was…missing. The orb as well, which left Solas with the distinctly sour suspicion that the darkspawn Magister was indeed still alive.

It was a small consolation that he had not begun his mad march on the Black City, meaning that the Anchor was affixed elsewhere. Almost certainly on this survivor.

The human woman, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast as she had been called, who was leading him stopped before the heavy door to the prison cell. She turned to face him.

“Sister Nightingale believes that you can help us,” she said, her tone disdaining that idea. “Do not prove her wrong.”

“I will do whatever I can,” he replied in his most conciliatory tone, “but I can make no promises…”

“You can and you will,” Cassandra said, like a battering ram—all force and no consideration. “Remember that as an apostate our leniency can only extend as far as you render aid.”

Apostate. Solas hated that word. Everything it stood for was what had gone wrong in the world since the drawing of the Veil. Suspicion, fear, closemindedness. A rejection of what little magic remained.

“And if I cannot?”

“Then our tolerance of your crimes will end.” Cassandra’s tone and expression left little doubt as to where that would leave him.

“Then I hope that I can be of service,” Solas said, biting back all of the other things he could say, things that would provoke her.

His tone must have irked her by the way her frown twitched. Too light, perhaps. She thought he wasn’t taking her seriously enough. But in the grand scheme of things, she wasn’t worth his seriousness. Except for her access to this mysterious survivor, she was barely worth his attention at all.

He held her gaze until she turned around and unlocked the cell’s door. She stood aside and waited for him to enter, then followed him.

“She is the only survivor of the blast,” Cassandra told him. “The men who found her claim that she came out of a rift.”

Solas’s gaze was fixed on the Anchor glowing brightly in the survivor’s hand. It pulsed erratically, searching for a will strong enough to bind it and finding none.

“Under normal circumstances,” he told Cassandra, “I would say that is impossible. However, these are far from normal circumstances. Perhaps that mark has something to do with it. I will know more when I have had time to examine it.”

“Lady Cassandra, I must protest!” said a flighty little man whom Solas noticed for the first time with the sound of his voice. “It is difficult enough to tend my patient in this…this,” he waved his hands around in a frustrated attempt to describe the condition of the cell. “Now you bring spectators.”

“I am here to help,” Solas said gently.

The man looked him up and down slowly, set his jaw, then turned to Cassandra.

“We need to make use of every resource we have if we are going to close the Breach,” she said before he could make any further complaint.

“I know some minor healing spells,” Solas offered, and the man’s expression softened slightly. Satisfied with that, Solas returned his attention to the prisoner.

She was one of the People, delicate and beautiful. The lines of her vallaslin stood out in stark relief on her pale forehead. Her breath came quick and shallow enough that he missed it for a moment. She was so still that it was the only thing that proved her alive at first.

She was undoubtedly the sister of that stubborn young elf he’d met on his way to the camp. What had happened to the boy after they were separated? Solas hoped he wasn’t still looking for his sister because she would be dead before he found her. The Anchor was making quick work of killing her despite the human healer’s best efforts.

He picked up her hand and uncurled her fingers to see the Anchor etched into her flesh, bleeding green light. He could feel it tugging at the Veil and every time it caught hold, it flared and rent the Veil further.

On the other end, it was attached quite thoroughly to the young woman, piercing not only her flesh and bone but also her spirit. It would not be removed without her death and even then nothing was certain. Perhaps with time, he could uncover a way to disentangle the two but that was something he did not have. And the Veil made everything more difficult, like trying to sketch a scene wearing heavy gloves.

He could let her die. Better yet, he could kill her and end her suffering as painlessly as possible. The poor thing had already suffered enough.

As discreetly as possible, he brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. What might she have been in another world? He tortured himself with those thoughts a moment before steeling his will to do what must be done. And then…he stopped.

Corypheus potentially remained a threat and the Veil must not be torn down until that was resolved. If he had survived the blast, he must have much more power than Solas had anticipated. His agents might not be enough to overcome the Tevinter.

Impatience had led him to this point, it would not ruin things further. Above all else, the Fade must be protected from Corypheus’s pollution. If that meant closing the rifts and starting anew once Corypheus was well and truly dead, so be it. He only hoped this girl was worthy of wielding the Anchor to that end.

Solas glanced over the human man who was watching him carefully. Cassandra had left while his attention had been on the Anchor.

“This mark is thrumming with magic unlike anything I have seen before,” he told the man. “I am putting up a magic barrier to try to stop it from spreading.”

“Do what you must,” the man told him.

And so he did.

*****

It was dark, well into the night, when the girl had her first fit. Solas had been dozing. With all of his spells and wards in place, he had thought to observe what damage the Breach may have caused in the Fade. He had barely the chance to see anything, however, when the yelp of the healer woke him.

He opened his eyes to find the man struggling to restrain their thrashing patient. She was stronger than her poor state of health and willowy build let on.

Once Solas had helped the healer calm the girl’s thrashing, he checked the barriers he’d set up around the Anchor. They had almost all been burned away. He set them up again and reinforced them. The girl settled, then, and her breathing took on a more even cadence.

Every few hours, the thrashing would return and she began to cry out. At first, her cries were wordless but eventually jumbled up phrases in elvhen and common could be made out among the moans.

“Too many eyes…telamaan…tel…tel’ith…”

“Suran…no…tel’eth…the grey…run…”

“Too many…telamaan…fen’haselanala…so many eyes…”

The first time she mumbled in elvhen, the healer asked Solas what she had said. He replied that she had simply said the same thing as what she had said in the common tongue. It wasn’t true but it was a small lie in the grand scheme of things. There was no saying how long she would go on mumbling like that and he had better things to do than play translator for her nonsensical ramblings.

As the hours passed, it became clear that she was gaining ground. Between the warding and the elfroot preparations, her temperature had come up and a very little color had come to her cheeks. The time between each fit of thrashing seemed to lengthen. By evening, Solas had even remarked that the fits appeared to be less violent than at first.

The only problem was that the Anchor continued to burn through every spell he threw at it. At this rate, Solas feared that they would revive her only for the Anchor to kill her regardless.

The following night promised no rest and Solas and he did not bother to seek it. He monitored the state of the magic he’d cast over the Anchor, assessing the rate of its degradation and reinforcing it as necessary.

There was a commotion at some point in the night. Soldiers came to guard the room and the healer became flighty once more. When asked what was happening, the soldiers replied that some of the villagers, who had been requesting that Cassandra have the prisoner executed for her supposed crimes since the day before, had tried to break into the Chantry to resolve the issue themselves. However they were dealt with, they were neither seen nor heard in the dungeon.

*****

The following morning, Cassandra herself came to check on the prisoner. While the healer had been communicating with her the entire time, she had not yet heard Solas’s report. After seeing that the girl was in much better shape than before and hearing the healer’s assurance that she would wake within the next two days, Cassandra removed Solas to another cell for interrogation.

The location, he assumed, was a not-so-subtle reminder of her threat from two days before. She would have him killed if she thought he was lying to her. The idea that she would be able to tell was mildly amusing.

“My te’vhellal telavelan aron ma,” a dear friend had told him long ago, in what would now be considered the mists of time, near the beginning of Elvhenan. _I have never met a liar like you_. It had been a compliment at the time, referencing some deception or other that had likely led to the spectacular ruin of an adversary. He could no longer remember the event, only the words.

Now they came back to him in a vastly different world where his lies were no longer moves in a political game but as simple a necessity as air. He would not have made it even this single miserable year without them.

“I have examined the mark on your prisoner’s hand and I have never seen anything quite like it in my life,” he said. “I have little doubt, however, that it was created by the same or similar magic to what created the Breach. It is growing stronger and it will kill her. I have done what I can to seal off the mark and prevent it from growing further, but I am afraid that I have delayed the inevitable at best. It is possible…It is possible that the mark’s connection to the Breach could mean that it is capable of closing it. Or it may simply open it wider. But if it can close it, it may close off the mark and save the prisoner’s life…or kill her.” He shook his head. “But it is all speculation now. I have not had a chance to examine the rifts yet, so I cannot say for certain what the nature of the relationship between the mark and the Breach is.”

“You want to go out there to _study_ one of the rifts?” Cassandra asked.

“That was what I requested when I arrived at your camp, yes,” Solas replied.

“And then run away?”

“Surrounded by your soldiers? With a tear in reality hanging over our heads? Where would I go?”

Cassandra sighed. “Very well.”

*****

The nearest rift to Haven was surrounded by demons who were being attacked by a squad of humans accompanied by a dwarf and the foolish elf boy Solas had tried to convince to go home. He gave Solas a bitter look when the last of the demons had been killed and the rift calmed for a moment.

It would be better to set matters straight now before the sister got involved. He would need the girl’s trust in order to guide her into closing the rifts and that would be much more easily won if her brother was not actively hating him.

“Da’len, asa’mar’lin…” Solas began.

“Yes, she is dead. I know,” the young man snapped.

“Wait, who’s dead?” the dwarf asked.

“My sister,” the elf replied. “She died in the explosion at the Temple.”

“Oh, Blue…I’m sorry,” the dwarf said in sympathy.

Solas shook his head. “There was a survivor—a Dalish elf with black hair and Mythal’s vallaslin. Could that be your sister?”

“Was it purple?” the boy asked. “Her vallaslin, was it purple?”

“I believe so,” Solas said.

The young elf leaned on his staff for support, blinking back his emotion. There might have been more of a scene—questions from the dwarf, emotional answers from the young elf—but the rift produced more demons then and the fighting resumed.

When the second round of demons had been dealt with, the young elf approached Solas.

“Ir serannas sul’em’dirthal,” he said softly. _Thank you very much for telling me._

Then, without waiting for Solas to make any kind of reply, he turned and went back to the dwarf’s company. It wasn’t much, but it was an improvement. Meanwhile, Solas turned his attention and magic toward the rift. The soldiers were watching him and, in any case, whatever he learned here could be useful the next time he sundered the Veil. He only caught snatches of the story the young elf was telling the dwarf, something about “damned berries” and a “face so swollen it caused small children to cry,” but the two were laughing quite heartily about it by the time the next round of demons arrived.


	4. Ny'ari, The Wrath of Heaven: Ny'ari and Cassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ny'ari's part of The Wrath of Heaven turned out longer than anticipated, so it will be posted in segments.

When Ny’ari awoke, her hands were bound. She was on her knees in a dungeon, surrounded by guards with their swords drawn. It would come to her later that she should have been fearing for her life, but all she could think was that she hoped Suran didn’t come looking for her. She hoped he thought she was dead and went home.

Green light burst from her hand and a painful buzzing ripped up her arm toward her shoulder. She gasped and pressed the pain down, her uncle’s words from when she was a child clear in her mind: “Don’t let the shemlen know what you’re thinking or feeling. They’ll use it against you the first chance they get.”

The door was opened and two human women entered, tough and intentionally intimidating. The one was hooded, but a wisp of red hair could be seen about her face. The other had a scarred face and short black hair. She was doing the talking.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she boomed. Her voice echoed at little against the stone walls. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Ny’ari said nothing. What was there to say? The charges sounded so serious that this woman might kill her no matter what came out of her mouth. So, she waited.

The dark-haired woman grabbed Ny’ari’s arm and thrust her own glowing hand in her face. “Explain this!” she demanded.

“I…cannot,” Ny’ari admitted, shocked.

“What do you mean you cannot?” The woman fairly exploded now.

“I do not know what that is or how it got there,” Ny’ari answered, the words tumbling from her mouth. It was starting to sink in that she was going to die and she didn’t know quite what to do about it.

“You’re lying!” The dark-haired woman moved in to strike Ny’ari but the hooded woman caught her and pulled her back.

“We need her, Cassandra,” the hooded woman said. She was clearly the voice of reason here.

It was bittersweet knowledge to Ny’ari that they needed her. What for? Information? An impossible quest? And if she failed to give them what they wanted…

She had already failed Istimaethoriel. “Get in and out without being noticed,” that was the directive. Now she was the prisoner of…of…who were these people anyway? Not that it mattered.

“So, what happens now?” she asked, prompting them to return their attention to her.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” the hooded woman asked.

Ny’ari thought. She struggled for memories that were slipping out of her grasp as fast as she chased after them. “I remember…running,” she said. “Things…were chasing me. And then…a woman?”

“A woman?” This piqued the hooded woman’s interest, so Ny’ari fought harder for the memory.

“She reached out to me, but then…”

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” Cassandra said in the gap between Ny’ari’s words. “I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana left and Ny’ari was alone, or mostly alone, with Cassandra and she wasn’t convinced that Cassandra wasn’t itching to chop her head off. Leliana had at least seemed pragmatic about the whole idea.

Cassandra knelt down in front of Ny’ari and replaced the heavy manacles with rope.

“What _did_ happen?” Ny’ari asked, mostly to herself. She did not expect Cassandra to take her seriously enough to answer.

Cassandra pulled her to her feet. “It will be easier to show you,” she said.

Outside, it was snowing. There were guards. The world felt real enough. But, when Ny’ari looked up at the sky, there was a massive wound in it, leeching the same green energy as what emitted from her hand. Instinctively, she flinched away from it.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” she asked in unadorned shock.

“This one did,” Cassandra answered. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Just then, the Breach flared and grew. The mark on Ny’ari’s hand did the same and this time the painful buzzing that had ebbed to a forgettable level rose to a bone-shattering intensity. No matter how Ny’ari tried to maintain her stoic façade, the pain ripped through it and she fell to her knees in pain.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads…” Cassandra explained, bending down to Ny’ari’s level. “And it _is_ killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“You say it _may_ be the key. To doing what?” Ny’ari asked. Stopping this, obviously, but how? She didn’t think it would be as simple as… Actually, she couldn’t think of any way for it to work at all.

“Closing the Breach,” Cassandra said, simply. “Whether that is possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

So Cassandra didn’t have the slightest clue, either. And she was still giving Ny’ari that, “You dirty criminal” look, too. Granted, a lot of humans gave her that look, but she would have thought it would soften a little for their only hope. It was rather insulting.

“You still think I did this?” she asked. “To myself?”

“Not intentionally,” Cassandra said. “Something clearly went wrong.”

“And if I am not responsible?” Ny’ari challenged.

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect,” Cassandra replied. “You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

Ny’ari took a moment to organize her priorities. Fix the Breach, fix the mark, prove her innocence. It wasn’t a very hard decision. But she still didn’t trust Cassandra not to kill her when it was all said and done.

“So if I do what you want, will I live through it?” she asked, cautious.

“We have no way of knowing,” Cassandra answered.

Cassandra pulled Ny’ari to her feet and pushed her forward, marching her through the fortress and toward the gate. The people watched them pass—wary, bitter, angry. “You filthy elf scum,” was written on many of their faces.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra explained when she saw Ny’ari’s eyes linger on some of the harsher expressions. “They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between the mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

Ny’ari said nothing while Cassandra preached at her. There was no way she could be expected to anticipate that a Dalish elf would know all of that already. And the warrior was getting a little emotional about it all, too. It would earn Ny’ari no points to interrupt now. In any case, they had reached the inner gate.

“We lash out, like the sky,” Cassandra continued as they passed under the arch. “But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did…until the Breach is sealed.”

How ominous that sounded to Ny’ari. It didn’t get any better when Cassandra turned around and pulled out a knife. Ny’ari didn’t move a muscle. Even if she could find a way to disarm Cassandra while bound, there were soldiers everywhere. It was better to let herself be murdered with dignity and less pain than to go down in a hail of arrows like a very guilty-looking madwoman.

Cassandra cut the rope that bound her hands. Oh. That was rather anti-climactic. The ropes were…for show, so the villagers didn’t kill her on sight. Rather clever for a woman so completely out of ideas as Cassandra seemed to be.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” Cassandra said. She turned away. “Come. It is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?” Ny’ari asked.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” Cassandra replied without really answering Ny’ari’s question.

It was frustrating to get so few real answers. Ny’ari only hoped that Cassandra was as frustrated as she was, just to spite the woman who was keeping her captive.

Ny’ari walked past a Chantry priest speaking words of comfort to a group of people and lines of shrouded bodies in front of a cart that held even more. Were these the victims of the Conclave? Thank the Creators that she had thought to slip Suran a sleeping-draught to keep him out of her way. He could have been among the dead.

“Open the gates! We are headed into the valley!” Cassandra called out to the guards as they approached the outer gate.

The gate swung open and Ny’ari passed through it into a war zone. Soldiers guarded barricades, a body lay next to a burning cart, and the Breach spat out balls of green flame in the distance.

Ny’ari faltered for just a moment, quickly glancing over at Cassandra. She was a hunter, used to fighting animals and sometimes other hunters, drunken brawling, and she had been confident, cocky even, that she could take on anything the Keeper’s mission dealt out. But this…this was beyond her wildest nightmares.

And Cassandra was there to keep her moving, even when a Breach fire struck the mountainside in front of them and sent rocks the size of her head flying in all directions. They passed more burning carts and more bodies. Ny’ari tried not to look.

Then a shockwave came and the mark flared painfully. Ny’ari stumbled and fell to her knees, gripping her wrist as if to cut off the flow of pain from her hand. Cassandra was right beside her and helped her up.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” she remarked. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“How _did_ I survive the blast?” Ny’ari asked, overwhelmed by the bleakness of it all. She didn’t expect an answer anymore, but Cassandra provided one of her not quite answers once again.

“They said you…stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

That was her cue to start moving again. They continued up the path to a bridge. Here, there wasn’t as much to obstruct their view of the Breach and the Breach fire rained down all around them. Ny’ari clenched her unmarked hand and tried to focus on reaching the other side of the bridge even though every bright green flash caught her eye.

A Breach fire fell on the bridge and the thing crumbled to bits, sending Ny’ari and Cassandra tumbling down onto the frozen lake below. A demon sprouted where the green fire touched the ice and Cassandra ran to it, sword drawn.

“Stay behind me!” she yelled.

That was all well and good but the ice was bubbling in Cassandra’s tracks, turning black and green, and it was clear they were about to have more demonic company. Ny’ari looked around and saw a pair of short blades lying among the things that had fallen from the bridge. They weren’t ideal, but they were better than nothing. No sooner had she picked them up than the demon burst forth from the ground.

“I really hope this is like killing animals,” Ny’ari thought.

It was close enough. The demon was dumber than most animals, but it was stronger. As long as Ny’ari avoided its predictable attacks and could get close enough, she could hit it. Cassandra was just finishing her demon when Ny’ari approached her.

“It is over,” Ny’ari said in relief.

But it wasn’t. Cassandra turned to see her holding the blades and brandished her sword. “Drop your weapon. Now,” she ordered.

“A demon attacked me. What was I supposed to do?” Ny’ari asked, a mixture of angry disbelief and pleading for Cassandra not to kill her.

“You don’t need to fight,” Cassandra said.

“Are you saying it will not happen again?” Ny’ari asked.

Cassandra gave in and sheathed her sword. “You’re right. I cannot protect you and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. Your life is threatened enough as it is.”

That was a nice enough concession, but then Cassandra went a step further. She took some potions from her own pouch and gave them to Ny’ari.

“Take these potions,” she said. “Maker knows what we will face.”

Ny’ari took them gladly. She was stuck in this mess either way, but it helped to have something to fix her up if it came to it. It occurred to Ny’ari then that there were no other fighters within sight.

“Where are all your soldiers?” she asked.

“At the forward camp or fighting,” Cassandra answered. “We are on our own for now.”

Ny’ari was less than tickled at the idea of being on her own with Cassandra. She gritted her teeth and continued up the frozen river. There were more demons there and more dead bodies. Several demons even attacked from a distance, insult to injury.

“Come down here and fight me like a person,” Ny’ari thought at the glowing red creatures, “then we’ll see who’s so scary.”

Indeed, her fear of the creatures was wearing off with every successive kill. It was being replaced with an annoyed sort of spite that closely resembled her feelings when a predator tried to steal her prey.

Eventually, they left the frozen river for a staircase that had been carved into the mountainside. The sounds of a battle grew louder as they climbed.

“We’re getting close to the rift,” Cassandra said. “You can hear the fighting.”

“Who is fighting?” Ny’ari asked.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Cassandra answered. “We must help them.”

Ny’ari sighed. Of course that was all the answer she would get. She should just stop asking Cassandra questions at this point.

They reached the top of the staircase and a great green thing could be seen floating in the air while men and monsters fought below it. She and Cassandra ran to help.


	5. Ny'ari, The Wrath of Heaven: Reunited

As the demons thinned, Ny’ari noticed that not all of the fighters were human. There was a dwarf with a crossbow and two elf mages, one of whom was going to get his ass handed to him by his angry sister the moment this was all over.

As soon as the last demon was killed, the elf who was not Ny’ari’s brother ran to her.

“Quickly, before more come through!” he cried, and then grabbed her wrist and thrust her hand toward the rift.

The mark on Ny’ari’s hand and the rift glowed in harmony and the rift collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing more than a quickly fading green essence in its wake.

“What did you do?” Ny’ari asked the elf, blinking at him in surprise.

“I did nothing,” he answered, smiling warmly. “The credit is yours.”

He was an odd-looking elf, bald and barefaced and dressed like a harhren had given him her late bonded’s worn out clothes ten years ago and he hadn’t changed anything since aside from the addition of a very old wolf’s jaw for a necklace, which suggested a more violent disposition than either his words or his actions had presented. Even so, there was something comforting about his presence—the tone of his voice, perhaps.

“You mean this?” Ny’ari said, opening her fingers to look at the mark, now dim and difficult to see against her fair skin.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” the elf continued. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake—and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said.

The elf turned his warm gaze from Ny’ari—no, from the proof that his theory had been correct—to Cassandra, a little cooler. “Possibly,” he said. He turned his attention back to Ny’ari. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know!” came the voice of the previously ignored dwarf. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

He approached the group with a swagger. Ny’ari had never met a dwarf before, so she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. He was short and wide with striking red hair on his head…and all across his bare chest, which could be seen through the open front of his shirt. It didn’t seem like the best way to dress for battle, but he and his crossbow weren’t spattered in demon blood like she was, so she supposed she wasn’t one to judge.

“Varric Tethras,” he introduced himself: “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

With that last appellation, he winked at Cassandra, who scowled in return. It was right then and there that Ny’ari decided she liked him.

“It is good to meet you, Varric,” she said.

“You may reconsider that stance, in time,” the elf said.

“Aww,” Varric said. “I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra said. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric asked testily. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

Cassandra’s only reply was a grunt of disgust as she turned away from him.

“My name is Solas if there are to be introductions,” the elf said. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” Varric translated.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all,” Ny’ari said.

“Like your brother, Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra supplied, drawing attention to Suran for the first time. Ny’ari slid her gaze over to him and he did his best impression of a statue until she returned her attention to Solas.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” Solas said. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

“And what will you do when this is all over?” Ny’ari asked. She couldn’t help but be curious. An elf mage who was neither Circle nor Dalish? This Solas was as rare as a golden halla. What rare fate was he on the path toward?

“One hopes that those in power will remember those who helped and those who did not,” Solas answered. Fair enough. Mundane, but fair enough. He turned to Cassandra, then. “Cassandra, you should know: the magic here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood,” Cassandra said. “We must get to forward camp quickly.”

She turned to start down the mountain pass. Solas turned to go, too.

“Well, Bianca’s excited!” Varric joked and then started down the path behind the others.

“Da’asa’ma’lin…” Suran began once the two of them were alone. _Little sister…_

“Tel’enas,” Ny’ari replied. _Don’t start._

“Y…” _But…_

“Undirthan, tel’enas.” _I said, don’t start._ Ny’ari took a few steps in the direction the others had gone before her brother spoke again.

“Shan inathe’ma.” _I’m glad you’re alive._

She stopped and turned toward him, about to say that she might not be alive much longer, and he threw his arms around her, holding on more tightly than she had thought him capable of.

She hugged him back and suddenly something struck her as quite funny. They were covered in demon blood, standing in the middle of a battlefield, and she was probably going to die before the day was out, but the only thing she could think to say was, “Mae ase em’an’dalemah, da’isa’ma’lin.” _Mom’s going to kill us, little brother._

She laughed and Suran managed a chuckle at that.

Then Ny’ari remembered that before they could go home to face their mother’s wrath, they had to survive the day and that would be much helped by Cassandra not accusing them of trying to escape. She let go of her brother and turned down the path that the other three had long since trod.

Ny’ari and Suran caught up quite quickly with the others. Cassandra looked…less than pleased with their delay but said nothing. They continued forward, cutting through demons as they went. The fighting was a lot easier with three more people to help.

“You are Dalish,” Solas commented to Ny’ari as they made their way forward, “but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”

Ny’ari paused a moment, caught off guard by Solas’s perception. “What do you know of the Dalish?” she asked, rather than answer his question.

“I have wandered many roads in my time,” Solas answered, “and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.”

Ny’ari didn’t know why, but it bothered her to hear that distancing from him. With the few city elves she’d met, it had never mattered to her. She had taken one look at them, seen that they wished they were human, and moved on—why bother with a flat-ear? Only Solas wasn’t a flat-ear from what she could tell. But for the lack of vallaslin, she might have taken him for Dalish. And that was the difference.

“We are both of the same people, Solas,” she said.

“The Dalish I met felt…differently on the subject,” Solas replied.

Ny’ari did not disguise the accusatory glance she sent her brother, who was walking with Varric.

“What? I have barely spoken to him!” Suran said in his defense.

“Can’t you elves just play nice for once?” Varric asked.

The mark on Ny’ari’s hand flared and she hissed in pain, cutting off whatever reply any of the three elves might have made to the comment.

“Shit, are you all right?” Varric asked as Suran went immediately to his sister’s side.

The pain and the light faded from the mark and she took a deep breath then nodded slowly, eyes locked on Suran’s. Suran pressed his lips together and held her gaze, unconvinced.

“My magic cannot stop the mark from growing further,” Solas said. “For your sake, I suggest we hurry.”

Ny’ari looked away from Suran and nodded more vigorously. She started forward again and the group followed suit.

Their path led them away from the riverbed and up a stone staircase.

“So…” Varric said after there had been silence in the group for a stretch. “ _Are_ you innocent?”

“I do not remember what happened,” Ny’ari replied.

“That’ll get you every time,” Varric said. “Should have spun a story.”

“That’s what _you_ would have done,” Cassandra said with disdain.

“It’s more believable,” Varric replied, “and less prone to result in premature execution.”

The last word threw a pall over the group and effectively ended conversation for a time. They climbed the next staircase in silence.

There were more demons to fight here and Ny’ari kept a close eye on her brother throughout their battles. Grim-faced, he handled himself better than she had anticipated in combat. How long, she wondered, had he been out here fighting these things? The thought was heavy with guilt.

“I hope Leliana made it through all this,” Cassandra said once they had cut down the last demon in the vicinity.

“She’s resourceful, Seeker,” Varric said.

“We will see for ourselves at the forward camp,” Solas added. “We are almost there.”

Indeed, they were. Another turn up the path, littered with more destruction, and another set of stair led them right to the gates of the forward camp—blocked off by a Fade rift.

“Another rift!” Cassandra cried, drawing her sword.

“We must seal it, quickly!” Solas said.

The soldiers who were already engaged in combat with the demons called out in desperation to the group as they approached. “They keep coming! Help us!”

With five extra hands added to the melee, it did not take long to finish the demons.

“Hurry!” Solas called to Ny’ari. “Use the mark!”

Ny’ari faltered. How? How was she supposed to know what to do? She looked from Solas to Suran for advice from either side, but they were both just watching her with expectation. With no better ideas to be had, she presented the mark to the rift like Solas had done previously and hoped for the best.

The mark and the rift connected. They hummed together, flared, and the rift imploded as before. Ny’ari pulled her arm back to her side and rubbed the mark with the thumb of her other hand. It didn’t hurt to close the rifts but it was…it was strange and her instinct was to rub away the strangeness.

“The rift is gone! Open the gate!” Cassandra called to the soldiers manning it.

“Right away, Lady Cassandra!” they replied and the gate began to creak open.

“We are clear for the moment,” Solas said, approaching Ny’ari. “Well done.” He gave her his warmest, proudest smile yet and it inspired her to return it with a smile of her own.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” Varric added.

Suran gave his sister a half hug and then the group passed through the gates into the forward camp.

The forward camp was arranged atop a bridge and the narrow area was cluttered with supplies and soldiers and corpses. As they picked their way along the path, an argument grew clearer.

“We must prepare the soldiers!” Ny’ari recognized that as Leliana’s voice.

“We will do no such thing,” a man replied.

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Leliana insisted. “It is our only chance!”

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility,” the man snapped back.

“ _I_ have caused trouble?” Leliana asked, incredulous.

“You, Cassandra, the Most Holy—haven’t you all done enough already?” the man asked.

“You’re not in command here!” Leliana cried out in frustration.

“Enough! I will not have it!” The man only managed to compose himself when he saw the group approaching. “Ah, here they come.”

“You made it,” Leliana said in relief. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—”

“I know who she is,” Roderick snapped. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Ny’ari inhaled sharply and she felt Suran grab and squeeze her right hand. She glanced over at Cassandra to see her reaction, but the Seeker wasn’t having it.

“‘Order me’?” she asked disdainfully. “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

Roderick was clearly offended by that, but he stuffed the feeling back under his Chantry hood. “And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” Leliana said. “As you well know.”

“Justinia is dead!” Roderick snapped. “We must elect her replacement, and follow _her_ orders on the matter.”

That seemed like it would take a ridiculously long time to Ny’ari and her mouth was faster on the draw than her sense of self-preservation. “Isn’t closing the Breach the more pressing issue?” she asked.

Suran squeezed her hand tightly at that as if to say, “Shut up before you get yourself killed.”

Indeed, Roderick rounded on Ny’ari upon hearing her voice. “ _You_ brought this on us in the first place!” But that was all the bile he had for her before turning his attention back to Cassandra. “Call a retreat, Seeker,” he said. “Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra replied.

“How?” Roderick asked. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple,” Cassandra said. “It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana pointed out. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

Cassandra shook her head. “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me,” Roderick said. “Abandon this now, before more lives are lost.”

The Breach expanded and Ny’ari’s mark flared in unison with it. She let go of Suran’s hand and gripped her wrist. It didn’t help the pain, but she wished it would.

“How do _you_ think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked when the flare had died down.

“Now you’re asking me what _I_ think?” Ny’ari asked in disbelief.

“You have the mark,” Solas pointed out.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot decide on our own…” She trailed off and left Ny’ari to decide.

Ny’ari looked to Suran and then back at Cassandra. The idea of charging forward with the soldiers frightened her more than she would ever admit. “Use the mountain path,” she said. “Work together. You all know what’s at stake.”

Cassandra swallowed her disapproval of the plan. “Leliana,” she said, “bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

They moved forward toward the other end of the camp.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” was Roderick’s parting shot and Ny’ari saw it strike home—Cassandra stiffened a little at the words.


	6. Ny'ari, The Wrath of Heaven: The Breach

The way up to the mountain path was relatively free both of demons and soldiers and Ny’ari breathed just a little bit easier at that. The wilderness was her home, not the battlefield.

“The tunnel should be just ahead,” Cassandra remarked as they reached the first in a series of ladders. “The path to the tunnel lies just beyond it.”

“What manner of tunnel is this?” Solas asked. “A mine?”

“Part of an old mining complex,” Cassandra confirmed. “These mountains are full of such paths.”

“And your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?” Varric asked.

“Along with whatever has detained them,” Solas pointed out ominously.

“We shall see soon enough,” Cassandra said.

They continued climbing and eventually came to the entrance of the mine. Almost immediately, they were set upon by demons and they battled their way through several waves of the creatures as they proceeded through the underground passages.

The architecture was entirely alien to Ny’ari, most especially the balconies that overlooked chasms that dropped off into black nothingness. It was mysterious, at once enchanting and terrifying. If she had come here under different circumstances, she might have liked to explore these tunnels more. At the moment, haste was necessary.

They exited the mine to sunlight and corpses.

Varric sighed. “Guess we found the soldiers,” he said.

“That cannot be all of them,” Cassandra said.

“So the others could be holed up ahead?” he asked.

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas reminded him. “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”

“I’m leaving _that_ to our elven friend here,” Varric said, indicating Ny’ari.

“In any case,” Suran said, “we can do two things at once. You make it sound like we can’t save the soldiers _and_ close the Breach.” He started off down the path ahead of the group.

Ny’ari shrugged. “My brother’s a bit of an idealist,” she said and trotted off to keep up with him, in case he marched his way into a demon.

As they came to a bend in the path, they encountered a rift that was being attacked by a small group of soldiers. As Ny’ari and the others rushed in to help, one of the soldiers recognized them.

“Lady Cassandra!” the woman called out.

“You’re alive!” Cassandra called back.

“Just barely,” the woman replied.

They cleared the field of demons, but the rift was still angry. Ny’ari held up her hand and it did not connect. She looked at the mark. It was calm.

“Telir’melen ma,” Suran told her. _Just wait._ He watched the rift. “Tan…ta…sa…” _Three…two…one…_

There was a pop and the rift expanded for a moment. It shot off little rift fires and where each landed a new demon appeared. The fight began anew.

As soon as the second wave was defeated, Ny’ari held out her hand and tried again. This time, it connected. The rift hummed with the mark and collapsed.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas said approvingly. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric added.

Cassandra was helping one of the soldiers to her feet.

“Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra,” the woman said. “I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”

“Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant,” Cassandra replied. “She insisted we come this way.”

“The prisoner?” the Lieutenant asked. “Then you…?”

“It was worth saving you, if we could,” Ny’ari told the woman. That hadn’t really been her intention in choosing the mountain path, just a pleasant side effect, but it would please Suran to think that it had.

“Then you have my sincere gratitude,” the Lieutenant said.

“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment,” Cassandra told her. “Go, while you still can.”

“At once,” the Lieutenant said, then turned to her soldiers. “Quickly, let’s move!”

The soldiers followed their lieutenant back toward the mine. Ny’ari watched them go with regret that she had to turn and take the opposite path.

“The path ahead appears to be free of demons as well,” Solas commented.

“Let’s hurry before that changes,” Cassandra said.

Ny’ari sighed and started down the path, the others falling in behind her. Cassandra directed them to the ladders which would take them to the temple.

“So…” Varric said as they walked on. “Holes in the Fade don’t just _accidentally_ happen, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bear, it _is_ possible,” Solas replied.

“But there are easier ways to make things explode,” Varric countered.

“That is true,” Solas agreed.

“We will consider _how_ this happened once the immediate danger is past,” Cassandra said, putting an end to the speculation.

“At my trial,” Ny’ari thought bitterly, though she didn’t dare to say it with Suran standing right beside her.

The ruins of the temple loomed up before them, charred black and stinking of death.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas said.

“What’s left of it,” Varric added.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you,” Cassandra told Ny’ari. “They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

Ny’ari had nothing to say to that. The desolation of the temple had left her speechless. Corpses were littered across the area, some frozen in the stance of horror they must have had when the explosion happened. Many still burned. Nothing had prepared her for this.

They turned down a tunnel that let out on a balustrade that overlooked a great rift, which hung directly beneath the Breach itself.

“The Breach _is_ a long way up,” Varric breathed.

There were footsteps behind them and Ny’ari turned to see who was coming. Leliana and some men stepped out from the shadows.

“You’re here!” Leliana cried in relief. “Thank the Maker.”

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” Cassandra instructed.

Leliana nodded her acceptance of the directions and went to execute them.

Cassandra turned to Ny’ari. “This is your chance to end this,” she said. “Are you ready?”

Ny’ari looked up at the Breach and inhaled sharply. “I’ll try,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can reach that, much less close it.”

“No,” Solas said. “This rift was the first and is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down, and be careful,” Cassandra said.

Leliana rejoined them, and they started down what may once have been a hall in the temple.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” a low voice echoed ominously through the area. “Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The sound of that voice gave Ny'ari the most unpleasant feeling. Whatever else had happened, the owner of that voice was up to no good. She knew that on instinct alone.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked.

“At a guess: The person who created the Breach,” Solas answered.

As they worked their way closer to the center of the area, they passed rock that pulsed green and rock that glowed red.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker,” Varric said.

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra replied.

“But what’s it _doing_ here?”

“Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas supplied.

“It’s evil,” Varric said. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

Ny’ari took two steps back, realizing she’d come within a hairsbreadth of touching it herself. It was attractively warm, so she hadn’t thought to avoid it. She was about to ask Varric what he knew about this red lyrium, but another echo of the ominous voice interrupted her.

“Keep the sacrifice still,” it said.

“Someone help me!” a woman’s voice cried out.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra gasped.

Ny’ari jumped down to the lowest level of the explosion’s crater and approached the rift, the others directly behind her. The mark flared again, but this time it did not hurt as much as before.

“Someone help me!” the woman’s voice cried again.

“What is going on here?” That was Ny’ari’s own voice, though she did not remember saying those words, and it sent sick chills down her spine.

“That was your voice,” Cassandra said to her in shock. “Most Holy called out to you. But…”

The Breach flashed and a ghostly vision appeared in the crater. An old woman Ny’ari could only assume was Divine Justinia floated above them, arms outstretched and pinned by some kind of red energy. A shadowy creature with glowing red eyes loomed above her, sinister. An apparition of Ny’ari entered the scene.

“What is going on here?” the ghost Ny’ari asked.

“Run while you can!” Justinia cried. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder,” the creature said. “Slay the elf.”

The Breach flashed again and the vision was gone.

“You _were_ there!” Cassandra said. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember!” Ny’ari insisted.

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas explained. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” He turned to the rift. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed…albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra said. She turned to her men, “Stand ready!”

The soldiers fell into position around the rift and Ny’ari turned, hand outstretched. She knew how to open a rift no more than she really knew how to close one and so she willed it to open as she watched the energy synchronize. At last the rift reacted, repulsing the connection with the mark with a blast that sent Ny’ari staggering back.

When she reoriented herself and turned to face the demon that had spawned, she found herself face to face with the biggest, ugliest beast yet. She adjusted her grip on her daggers and took a deep breath.

“It’s not any different from the others,” she told herself. “Just…just taller.”

She dived into the fight then with everything she had. If she gave up now, they were all dead.

Things got no easier when the rift spawned even more demons of the more usual variety. Ny’ari was exhausted—weak in the knees and out of breath, by the time the demons were finally conquered.

“Now!” Cassandra yelled hoarsely. “Seal the rift!”

Ny’ari dragged herself up into position and presented her hand to the rift.

“Do it!” Cassandra yelled when the mark did not instantly connect.

Ny’ari took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and begged the mark to connect. Then, it did. It pulled on her, and pulled, and pulled until Ny’ari was convinced she would collapse, task unfinished. She gritted her teeth and willed herself to stay standing just a little bit longer.

At last, the rift pulsed and released the mark. Energy shot upward toward the Breach and Ny’ari fell to her knees.

“It’s done,” she thought and then succumbed to oblivion.


	7. Suran, Return to Haven

“Te!” Suran yelled when he saw his sister collapse in a heap on the ground. _No!_ He dropped his staff and ran to her with the greatest speed he could muster, sliding to his knees at her side. He gathered her in his arms just as the aftershock of the rift closing reached them.

All waited in silence while the dust settled, most with eyes turned to the Breach, watching for any change. Suran watched Ny’ari, searching for a sign that she was still living. At last, she inhaled and Suran clutched her to his chest, squeezing his eyes closed against tears of relief.

The Breach was still. It had not sealed but it no longer pulsed with the same energy as it had. The same could be said for Ny’ari’s mark.

“The Breach is closed…for the moment,” Solas announced at last.

A cheer went up among the soldiers even as Cassandra approached Solas and asked, “What do you mean, ‘for the moment’?”

“I mean,” Solas answered, “that it has clearly not been sealed completely. While the Breach is currently calm, there is always the possibility that it could reopen.”

“Then we have failed,” Cassandra said.

Suran glanced up from his sister at that and saw Solas shake his head. “This was perhaps the best outcome we could have achieved under the circumstances,” the elf replied. “The Breach was created with an immense amount of magical energy and it is not unreasonable to assume that a similar amount of energy is required to seal it. As it stands, it is closed and we are safe for the moment.”

Cassandra conceded that by not answering.

The field medics arrived shortly thereafter to begin the process of patching up the wounded and carting them back to Haven. Suran allowed them to look at Ny’ari as long as she was in his arms, watching them like a suspicious guard dog, but the moment they tried to take her away, he clung to her and refused to even acknowledge their reasons for wanting to take her.

Varric approached the struggle and place his hand on Suran’s shoulder, causing the elf to startle badly.

“Blue,” he said gently, “you’ve gotta let them take her. I’m sure there’s a Healer back in Haven who can patch her up good as new, but she’s not going to get there by herself. And between you and me, I don’t think your twiggy arms can carry her that far. These good men will take good care of her and I’m sure they won’t mind your supervision all the way up there. Am I right, boys?”

“Absolutely,” one of the medics agreed and the other, waiting with the stretcher, nodded vigorously.

Suran grimaced, then sighed and nodded. He relaxed his grip on Ny’ari and the medics made quick work of moving her to the stretcher.

Once back in Haven, Ny’ari was set up in a little cabin and Suran took up his post beside her bed. Very shortly thereafter, an angry bearded man came in, grumbling about spineless cowards and half-assed notes. He stopped when he saw Suran, clearly not expecting anyone but the patient to be in the room.

“I am Adan,” he introduced himself, “Haven’s apothecary. This isn’t my job but, considering our last real healer ran off after Cassandra forced him to look after our friend,” he indicated Ny’ari, “the first time, I’m the best we’ve got.”

“How very…comforting,” Suran said without enthusiasm.

“I’m about as comforted as you,” Adan replied. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

Adan shooed Suran out of the way and began his examination of the patient. He “hm”ed and “ha”ed, clicked his tongue and shook his head. Then, he left without telling Suran any of his findings.

Suran watched him go in silence and immediately resumed his post at his sister’s side. He took her hand and prayed for her recovery. He supposed he was praying to the Creators, but he knew it was deeper than that—a prayer desperate enough that he didn’t care whose god it reached, as long as it reached one of them.

Adan returned sometime after that with a veritable crate of potions and tonics to heal Ny’ari. He started rattling off the proper sequence and timing of application to Suran, who blinked at him, overwhelmed.

“Could you write it down?” the elf asked.

Adan sighed and hunted around for a piece of paper until he found the first sheaf of inadequate notes. He flipped it over and wrote out the instructions, then handed it to Suran.

“That should help,” he said, “but keep an eye on her. If she starts to get worse, come find me. My practice is next to the Chantry. Oh, and run, don’t walk. If we’re lucky, she may just pull through.”

That was the last of Adan that Suran saw all day. That was the last visitor to be had at all until Cassandra arrived in the early evening.

“How is she?” the warrior asked.

“I don’t know,” Suran answered.

Cassandra pulled up a stool and sat down toward the foot of the bed.

“I want to thank you for defending her against that Chantry man,” Suran said.

“Roderick? He’s a fool,” Cassandra said.

“A fool who would have had my sister killed if you had not stood up for her,” Suran said.

“I stood up for what was right.”

Suran shrugged. “It had the same effect.”

“And yet the Breach is not sealed,” Cassandra sighed. “We will have to try again.”

“That will kill her.”

Cassandra shook her head. “We do not know that yet. But if it does… I want you to know that is not the outcome I hope for.”

“In any case, that is for Ny’ari to decide when she wakes up,” Suran said. “ _If_ she wakes up.”

“Adan was quite confident about that when I spoke to him,” Cassandra said.

Suran snorted.

“Our apothecary is something of a pessimist,” Cassandra explained. “You learn to read between the lines.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several seconds before Cassandra grunted awkwardly and stood.

“I have many things to do now,” she said. “I will have someone stop by to check on you and your sister later.”

Suran nodded and Cassandra took her leave of him.

It was much later, when Suran was nearly asleep, that a soft knock at the cabin’s door startled him to attention.

“Y-yes?” he called out cautiously.

The door opened to admit Solas.

“Nuvenan ma son, Da’len,” he said in greeting. _I hope you are well._

Suran sighed and looked away. “It would be better to speak in the common tongue if we do not want the humans to suspect us of plotting something,” he said after a pause.

“As you wish,” Solas said.

“Why are you here?”

“I am returning your staff. You left it on the field.”

Suran turned back to Solas. Indeed, the bald elf was carrying his staff. He hadn’t even realized he was missing it.

“Thank you,” Suran said.

Solas stepped further into the cabin and leaned the staff in the corner at the foot of Ny’ari’s bed.

“How is she?” he asked.

“As you see,” Suran answered, nodding at her prone figure.

“Have you eaten anything since you returned?” Solas asked.

Suran blinked at him in surprise, then shook his head. “I have not left her side.”

“Come, we will find you something to eat.”

Suran shook his head again.

“You will be no use to her if you drive yourself to exhaustion before she wakes,” Solas said.

“It should have been me,” Suran said. “I should have been the one at the Temple. Our Keeper sent me, not Ny’ari, but she… How can I leave her when she is suffering in _my_ place?”

“Da’len…” Solas began.

“Do not call me that!” Suran snapped.

Solas sighed. “And how do you help her by sitting there and bemoaning her fate?”

“I will be here when she wakes,” Suran replied.

“No matter how long it takes? Without sleeping? Without eating? Would you leave to relieve yourself? What state will she find you in?”

Suran sighed. “Someone must administer her medicine.”

Just then, a young elf woman entered carrying a box. “I, ah, Master Adan sent me,” she said, nervous beneath two pairs of eyes. “More medicine.”

“You work for Adan?” Solas asked.

“Yes,” the elf replied, “I do. I, um…”

“Does that mean you know about medicine?”

“No, I just…” She looked back and forth between Solas and Suran. “I just run errands.”

“It is all right, Solas,” Suran said. “I have my list. It is better if I just continue.”

“Can you read?” Solas asked the elf woman.

“A little?” she replied.

“Could you manage a list?”

“Maybe?”

Solas located the list on the table and looked it over. “Like this one?” He handed it to the elf woman.

“Yes,” she said looking it over. “This one I can do.”

“Good,” Solas said.

“Follow it to the letter,” Suran said.

He stood and followed Solas out of the cabin, but not without a regretful look back at Ny’ari.

Solas took Suran to the tavern, which was about three-quarters full with those inhabitants of Haven who saw the events of the day as something worth celebrating. Varric was at a table with several human soldiers and saw the two elves walk in.

“Blue!” he called out over the noise of the crowd. “There’s room for you and Chuckles here.”

They altered course from the empty table they had spotted to join Varric and his group.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Varric said, “allow me to introduce you to the Herald’s brother, Blue.”

“The what?” Suran asked.

“The Herald of Andraste,” one of the soldiers said.

“Who is that?” Suran asked.

“Your sister,” Varric said.

“Fenedhis,” Suran breathed. “Do not call her that to her face.”

“Why not?” the soldier asked.

“She will break your nose,” Suran replied.

The soldier was thoroughly offended by that. “That title is an honor! A knife-ear like you should—”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Varric cut him off, then turned to the person next to him. “Take him to get some air, will you?”

The soldier on the other side of the angry one helped him up and guided him to the door, revealing how far gone he was with drink already.

“I’m sorry about that, Blue,” Varric told Suran when the two soldiers were gone.

“I simply do not understand his reasoning,” Suran said. “I am not Andrastian and neither is my sister. Is he saying that he would be honored to be the Herald of Mythal?”

“He’s drunk,” Varric said. “He doesn’t have any reasoning.”

“True enough,” Suran said. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

He went up to the bar to obtain food and drink. Varric and Solas watched him chat with Flissa while she procured what he had asked for. When he returned, he took a seat across from Varric.

“Flirting with the barmaid?” Varric asked teasingly.

Suran laughed and shook his head. “That woman is as jumpy as a frightened halla.”

“A what now?”

“A frightened halla,” Suran repeated. “Normally, they are the best pathfinders in the world but, if they are scared badly enough, they just go running off in any direction. I have seen more than one ram themselves into a tree. It would be funnier if it were not so dangerous.”

“And what makes Flissa like a frightened halla?” Varric asked.

“When she saw me, she gasped and said, ‘The Herald’s brother!’ and then proceeded to explain to me in detail how well she treated the elves who worked for her and how she supported the alienage. Which is hardly a bad thing if it is true, but it does not have much to do with me.”

“Did you tell her you’re Dalish?” Varric asked.

Suran shook his head. “If she could not see it on my face, there was not much point in telling her.”

Varric nodded his agreement with that, then one of the soldiers made a comment about something and the conversation drifted away from any subject Suran was invested in. He ate in silence, listening to those around him joke and debate. When he was finished, he quietly made his excuses and returned directly to Ny’ari’s side.


	8. Ny'ari, Waking

Ny’ari awoke to see the uneven slats of a wooden roof. She could hear and smell a fire burning nearby. The room was warm and the bed on which she lay was soft. She sat up carefully. The room around her was open but not particularly large and it was furnished cozily.

A young elven woman entered, carrying a box. She startled violently when she saw that Ny’ari was awake and dropped the box.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear,” she stammered.

“City elf,” Ny’ari thought sourly. “Is this another prison?” she asked aloud. It didn’t look like a prison, at least not compared to where she was held before, but she didn’t dare assume the opposite.

“I…” the elf began. “No? I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Then where am I?” Ny’ari asked. “Tell me.” And where was Suran if this wasn’t a prison?

The woman fell to her knees. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

It annoyed Ny’ari that this woman was so quick to put herself beneath others—she should have more pride as an elf—but that feeling was overshadowed by the shock she felt at being addressed in such a way by anyone.

“You’re back in Haven, my lady,” the elf continued. “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has been talking about for the last three days!”

Three days… It felt like only a moment ago that she had been sealing the rift beneath the Breach. What had happened in that time? Had they sent Suran away? Was that why he wasn’t by her side? What would happen now? The trial that Cassandra promised?

“So a trial happens now, I suppose,” she fished.

“I don’t know anything about that,” the elf said. She hesitated. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’!”

“And where is she?” Ny’ari asked.

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor,” the woman replied. “‘At once,’ she said!”

And with that, the elf woman backed up until she reached the door and scurried away like the mouse she was.

Ny’ari got to her feet and took a moment to find strength in her knees again. She felt weak and not quite present. There was a note on the desk just across from her bed, so she walked over to it on legs that trembled a little less with each step. On the front were notes about a patient, presumably her, who had been in very poor condition. On the back, there was a long list of potions and tonics with notes on the quantity and frequency of administration. She set the note back down and sighed. It would probably be best if she went to find Cassandra sooner rather than later.

Outside the cabin, two guards stood at attention before a crowd of people that lined the pathway. Ny’ari hesitated, then took a deep breath and started to walk down the path. She could hear the people whispering, something about a “Herald of Andraste”. There was none of the hostility that she had faced when Cassandra had led her through the area as a prisoner. Some people were even on their knees, heads bowed and hands folded. The only thing that set her nerves on edge was the fact that she did not see Suran among the many assembled—she did not even see Solas or Varric.

She entered the Chantry and she could hear the arguing from within an inner room as she moved deeper into the building.

“Have you gone completely mad?” Roderick asked. “She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately to be tried by whoever becomes Divine.”

“I do not believe she is guilty,” Cassandra replied.

“The elf failed, Seeker,” Roderick said. “The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it that way.”

“I do not believe that,” Cassandra said.

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry,” Roderick told her.

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry is founded, Chancellor. As is yours.”

That was when Ny’ari reached the door behind which they were arguing and, with a deep breath, she set her face into a mask of inscrutability and opened it. Cassandra, Leliana, and Roderick stood around a table, all looking angry.

“Chain her,” Roderick ordered the guards immediately. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra told the guards.

Ny’ari glanced over her shoulder as the men followed Cassandra’s order rather than Roderick’s.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick growled.

“The Breach is stable,” Cassandra said, approaching Roderick, “but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“I did everything I could to close the Breach,” Ny’ari said. She still felt weak in her bones. “It almost killed me.”

“And yet you live,” Roderick sneered. “A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra said before Ny’ari could reply to that. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana said, stepping up beside Cassandra. “Someone Most Holy did not expect.” She looked at Cassandra. “Perhaps they died with the others.” Her gaze turned menacingly on Roderick, “Or have allies who yet live.”

“ _I_ am a suspect?” Roderick half-choked.

“You, and many others,” Leliana replied.

“But _not_ the prisoner.” Roderick’s disdain was palpable.

“I heard the voices in the Temple,” Cassandra said. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So her survival, that _thing_ on her hand—all a coincidence?” Roderick asked.

“Providence,” Cassandra replied. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

“The Breach is stable now,” Ny’ari said. “What more do you want from me?”

Cassandra was quiet for a moment. “We must try again,” she said and turned away from the table.

“The Breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” Leliana said.

“This is not for you to decide,” Roderick insisted.

Cassandra returned to the table and dropped a great book on it.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” she asked. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

Cassandra approached Roderick and, with every step she took toward him, he backed up until he was against the wall.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval,” the Seeker declared.

Flustered, Roderick ducked away from Cassandra and left the room. Cassandra turned away from the door and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“This is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana said while Cassandra composed herself: “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

Cassandra turned back to the table. “But we have no choice: We must act now.” She looked to Ny’ari. “With you at our side.”

“What is the ‘Inquisition of old’, exactly?” Ny’ari asked as her mind reeled at what these two human women were suggesting.

“It preceded the Chantry,” Leliana explained: “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order,” Cassandra added. “But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.”

“But are you not still part of the Chantry?” Ny’ari asked.

Cassandra snorted. “Is that what you see?”

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction,” Leliana said.

“But _we_ cannot wait,” Cassandra said. “So many grand clerics died at the Conclave… No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever.”

“You are trying to start a holy war,” Ny’ari suggested.

“We are already at war,” Cassandra replied. “You are already involved. Its mark is upon you. As to whether the war is holy…that depends on what we discover.”

Ny’ari thought of her mother, of her clan, waiting for her to return safely with Suran. Word of the explosion and the Breach must have already reached them.

“What if I refuse?” she asked.

“You can go, if you wish,” Leliana said.

“You should know that, while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us,” Cassandra said.

“We can also help you,” Leliana added.

“It will not be easy if you stay,” Cassandra admitted, “but you cannot pretend this had not changed you.”

Ny’ari hesitated. Suran needed her. Her clan needed her. But there would be no Suran and no clan if the Breach opened itself again and she was not near enough to close it. And she would be of no use to anyone if she was killed by assassins.

“If you are truly trying to restore order…” she said slowly, promising herself that she would return to her people the moment this was finished.

“That is the plan,” Leliana told her.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late,” Cassandra said. She held out her hand.

Ny’ari took it and they shook hands on the deal. For the first time since Ny’ari had met her, Cassandra smiled.

They immediately set about making plans to publicly declare the Inquisition. Cassandra told Ny’ari to visit the blacksmith to be fitted for some proper armor and then gently suggested that the dazed elf seek out the apothecary if she was feeling unwell. She then led Ny’ari out of the room and left her in the Chantry nave.

She stood there for a while, trying to figure out what she would tell Suran when she found him. How could she convince him to go home without her? All the right words scuttled out of her grasp as soon as she reached for them.

She was never very good at arguing with her brother. He always out-reasoned her. Then she’d get angry and thump him on the head when they were little or just storm off when they got older. But this time she couldn’t afford to let him win. She had promised Mae that she would make sure he got home safely. Maybe she could thump him on the head like old times or, better, give him another sleeping draught and pay someone to take him up north for her.

With no good ideas in her head, she walked out of the Chantry and was immediately attacked by a hug from Suran.

“Ir abelas, da’asa’ma’lin,” he gasped, out of breath. “A…avy othem…” _I’m so sorry, little sister. I was walking…_

“Shh,” Ny’ari said. “Re san.” _It’s OK._ She waited for him to let her go, but he didn’t, so she continued. “Re vhen’an vara’melana.” _It’s time to go home._

Suran let Ny’ari go then, so he could search her face for any sign of deceit. She was terrified he would catch her, then. He knew all her tells. But all he said was, “Tel’haral?” _Really?_

Ny’ari nodded. “Tel’haral. Ame vaserest.” _Really. I am free._

Suran hugged her again and then let her go and caught her hand. “Vara ar’en,” he said. _Let’s go._ He started to lead her down the path away from the Chantry. Then he stopped, realizing that he had taken her left hand. He dropped it abruptly. “Abelas. Nual?” _Sorry. Does it hurt?_

Ny’ari shook her head. “Y Cassandra em’umdirth ladarelan’vena.” _But Cassandra told me to find the apothecary._

Suran nodded. “Adan. Ise on’ishan.” _He is a good man._ He started in the other direction to lead his sister to the apothecary, but she caught him by the arm and stopped him.

“Elanan ara’lan ish’vena,” Ny’ari said. “Saron’sul’emas var’rahnen.” _I can find him myself. Gather our things._

Suran hesitated, then nodded and pointed Ny’ari in the direction of the apothecary before turning back and going down the path toward the cabin where Ny’ari had woken.

Ny’ari watched him go and sighed. She did not know how long she could go without telling him what she planned to do, but she would go as long as she could. Then she turned and went to find the apothecary.

She found Adan without much trouble. He was a surly man, but a good one just as Suran had said. He seemed so overwhelmed that she asked if there was anything she could do to help, ignoring her lack of understanding of any healing art. He mentioned some missing notes and made her a potion to set her up for the rest of the day.

Potion in hand, she asked the alchemist turned healer where she could find the blacksmith and he pointed her in the right direction.

She passed through the village, feeling like a thief. She breathed a sigh of relief once she passed through the gates without seeing Suran. The blacksmith was right around the corner.

Harritt was a simple, honest man and he was happy to help her once she told him that Cassandra had sent her for armor. She chatted with him while he fitted her for a new nugskin coat.

All would have been well if Suran had not walked past then. He stopped when he saw her, confused as to why she was getting a new set of armor but with realization dawning fast. He knew his sister too well not to guess her plan.

“Does your brother need something made up for him, too?” Harritt asked in the moment of silence that passed between the siblings.

“I—ah…” Ny’ari said. “Is this finished?” She indicated the coat. “Can I come back for it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harritt said, perplexed by the anxiety in her voice.

Ny’ari shimmied out of the coat and passed it to the blacksmith as Suran turned on his heel and started back to Haven’s gate.

“Da’isa’ma’lin!” she called, jogging to catch up to him. “Ir abelas.” _Little brother! I’m so sorry._

“Te’mathal,” he told her. _Not enough_.

“Tel’emaronasha,” she said. _That’s not fair._

They had just passed through the gate when Suran stopped to glare at her. “Ma—!” _You—!_ He seethed, shaking for a moment, and, just when he seemed he had regained his self-control, he lost it and slapped her across the face hard enough to snap her head to the side. “Thu ma gyas?” _How dare you?_

Suran continued back to the cabin, then, leaving his sister holding her smarting cheek. She didn’t follow him. She knew they would fight if she did and nothing would get any better. It was wiser to wait until he had calmed down and they could discuss things like adults. He would out-reason her, then, and end up staying with the Inquisition. She would have been further ahead by drugging him again.

She let go of her cheek and turned to go back out the gate. She wandered around out there, half-heartedly looking for and failing to find the notes Adan had mentioned. Instead, she found the bridge where Cassandra had promised her a trial, still lined with bodies waiting for pyres. There were so many dead.

To distract herself from this painful reality, she wandered around the frozen lake, chasing fennecs for fun. When she had worn herself out, too fast she thought, she returned to Haven and to Harritt to pick up her armor. She placed an order for new blades then and informed him that her brother would visit tomorrow for armor of his own.


	9. Ny'ari, Haven: Varric and Solas

Ny’ari walked back into Haven, rolling her shoulders to fight the stiffness of freshly-worked leather, and found Varric kneeling by a fire not far from the gate. He stood when he caught sight of her.

“So…” he said. “Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot: Are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

Ny’ari sighed and sat down at the fire’s edge, crossing her ankles and pulling her knees up to her chest, as she had so often done back home after a long day. “None of this shit should have happened,” she said bitterly, shaking her head.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Varric said, sitting beside her. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker knows what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

Ny’ari glanced over at the dwarf. “If it was that bad, why did you stay?” she asked. “Cassandra said you were free to go.”

“I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this? Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and leave that to sort itself out.”

When Varric put it like that, Ny’ari’s family drama felt a whole lot smaller. She rested her chin on her knees. “I am still not sure I believe any of this is really happening,” she said.

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there’s a damn good punchline coming,” Varric said. “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky… That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Ny’ari had nothing to say to that, so she just sat and stared into the flames until the hopelessness of not only her situation but also that of everyone around her, threatened to overwhelm her. Run at the first opportunity? How could he suggest that when he wasn’t taking his own advice?

Ny’ari stood. “Thank you, Varric,” she said.

“For what?” the dwarf asked.

“For the conversation,” she said. “And…for asking how I am.”

“Any time, Moonflower,” Varric said.

Ny’ari began to turn away but turned back. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“That’s your nickname,” Varric said.

“Why?”

“Have you ever seen a moonflower? White petals with purple edges. Kind of like your face.”

“Oh…alright, then.” Ny’ari turned and headed up the path toward the apothecary. She was starting to ache all over and she hoped Adan might have something to help with that. “Moonflower,” she repeated softly and touched one of the dark lines that ran under her eye.

She stopped at the top of the stairs leading toward the apothecary when she saw Solas standing outside the house next to the apothecary and staring at the sky. It took her a moment because the peak of the house’s roof blocked her view, but she realized that the Breach was behind him and he was looking at…she turned to follow his gaze…the sunset.

She looked back to Solas with a little thrill. After talking to Varric, after fighting with Suran, after being strong-armed into joining the Inquisition, everything seemed so bleak that she had nearly forgotten that people could look up at the sky to watch a sunset as well as the Breach. It was invigorating to see that someone in Haven was still willing to do that.

She couldn’t help but be curious about what he was thinking as he stood there and so, pain momentarily forgotten, she approached him.

“The Chosen of Andraste,” he greeted her, “a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?” Ny’ari asked, refusing to take such a sentiment seriously coming from him—if he was serious, she would have to reconsider her initial impression of him.

Thankfully, Solas replied in kind. “I would have suggested a griffon,” he said, “but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” He turned to look out over Haven. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

He looked back at Ny’ari for an answer, but she was caught up in the way Solas described his experience in the Fade. She’d never envied Suran his magic before, but now she wished she could walk the Fade like a mage, too.

“What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?” she asked to feed her imagination.

Solas willingly obliged her curiosity. “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

That sounded thrilling, but Ny’ari was a hunter. She wandered the wilderness and knew what was out there. She was not sure even the promise of ages old memories could tempt her to make her bed alone in a place civilization had forgotten.

“You fall asleep in ancient ruins?” she asked to make sure she understood properly. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I _do_ set wards,” Solas said. “And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

Ny’ari shuddered at the mention of giant spiders. “Usually” was not a comforting word when it came to eight-legged beasts the size of a dog. Ny’ari’s mage-envy was quite a bit dampened, but her respect for Solas grew with every word.

“I have never heard of anyone going that deep into the Fade,” she said. “That’s extraordinary.”

“Thank you,” Solas said. “It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.”

To see the passion in his eyes, Ny’ari would not have him do so. She couldn’t imagine anyone with a heart trying to snuff that passion out. Perhaps it was because he had been so kind to her thus far or perhaps because they were kin, Ny’ari felt rather protective of Solas and his interests.

“I will stay, then,” Solas said after a thoughtful pause, “at least until the Breach has been closed.”

That was like the shock of cold water thrown in Ny’ari’s face. “Was that in doubt?” she asked.

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion,” Solas explained. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

Ny’ari did understand. She hated it, hated the necessity of it, but she understood. She only wished Suran would exercise as much caution. Maybe then she wouldn’t have felt the need to lie to him about going home.

But the idea that Solas had been considering leaving at the same time she had been trying to trick her brother into going home without her left a sick knot in her stomach, like she might have been left without any kin to support her—the few groveling city elves she’d encountered did not count toward that number. She wanted to reassure Solas so that he would not have any thoughts of leaving again.

“You came here to help, Solas,” she said. “I will not let them use that against you.”

“How would you stop them?” he asked.

“However I had to,” Ny’ari replied, already imagining the various means by which she could fight the shemlen.

Solas paused a moment, clearly surprised by her reaction. “Thank you,” he said warmly. “For now, let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

Ny’ari nodded her agreement of that and took her leave of Solas. She found Adan in the apothecary and received another potion from him to relieve her aches. He warned her not to rely too much on potions in the future and sent her on her way.

Solas was still outside when Ny’ari stepped out of the apothecary. She watched him for a moment, trying to decide if it was acceptable for her to go talk to him again so soon after their last conversation.

She wanted to. She wanted to hear his opinions about…well, anything. He was unlike anyone she had ever known before and learning how he saw the world was fascinating. But she was afraid that she might just convince him to run away if she was too pushy.

She had never been very good at dealing with new people. She always seemed to be quite good at making an ass of herself in situations such as the most recent Arlathvhen—which had been her mother’s first and last hope of her finding someone outside of the clan to bond with.

Finally, Ny’ari gave in to her desire to converse more with Solas. The weather was cold, light snow had been falling for some time now, and it weakened her judgment, or at least her will to remain aloof.

“Hello,” she said softly to get his attention as she approached.

He turned to her with a smile, but it quickly faded. “You are unwell,” he said. “Come inside where it is warm.”

He ushered her into the small house outside of which he had been standing. It was, if possible, even more sparsely furnished than the cabin where Ny’ari had woken. As she looked around, she recognized Solas’s staff in the corner and his coat folded neatly on the bed.

Solas moved the only chair in the building to rest before the fire and beckoned for Ny’ari to sit there.

“But there is nowhere for you to sit, then,” Ny’ari protested uncomfortably.

“Sit,” Solas ordered like a stern healer.

Ny’ari did not have the audacity to protest further and so she sat.

Solas stood for a moment, awkward, and then took a seat on the edge of the bed. Ny’ari adjusted her chair so that it angled toward him for a more conversational feel to the arrangement.

Solas watched the fire for several seconds, then turned his gaze on her. “Closing the Breach is our primary goal,” he said, “but I hope we might also discover what was used to create it. Any artifact of such power is dangerous. The destruction of the Conclave proves that much.”

Ny’ari blinked at him, remembering the desolation of that area that had once been the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The thought of the still-burning corpses made her a little queasy. “You do not think whatever created the explosion was destroyed in the blast?” she asked.

“You survived did you not?” Solas asked in return. “The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes.”

Ny’ari paused. Solas seemed quite certain that the artifact, whatever it was, had survived but her mind conjured at least three scenarios in which she thought it could reasonably have been destroyed despite its age and power.

She shrugged it off. Solas knew more about magic than she did or likely ever would. If he thought the artifact survived, then it was likely that it had.

“We would do well to recover whatever created the Breach,” she agreed.

“Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there,” Solas said, gaze drifting toward the fire. He snapped his attention back to Ny’ari. “In any case, did you need me for anything?”

“Fen’harel ver ra,” Ny’ari thought, hoping the heat rising in her face was not a visible blush. _Dread Wolf take it._ She hadn’t thought of a reason for talking to Solas, she’d just gone up and said hello. Then he had gone on about a topic of his own and she hadn’t thought any further than that.

The idea of a great evil wolf arriving to destroy the village and thus saving Ny'ari from making a fool of herself in this conversation was more palatable than she had anticipated. She really wanted Solas to like her despite her bumbling attempts at social interaction.

Why? she asked herself. Because he was intelligent, thoughtful, and brave. Those traits together in one person were harder to find than Ny'ari had been led to believe as a young girl, inculcated with ideas of romance she'd long since abandoned.

Not that she was trying to cast Solas as a romantic hero. Absolutely not. There was no time for romance when the sky was bleeding demons. And even if that were not a concern, she could only imagine how she must look to Solas—coarse, unlearned, without magic or any other fascinating trait. That was ignoring the physical, but Ny'ari didn't want to go there.

No, it was better to approach Solas as a friend. The sky _had_ been torn open. There _were_ demons. There _was_ an Inquisition, whatever that meant. And Ny'ari _had_ let the silence drag on too long.

All things considered, perhaps the arrival of Fen'harel would not be as distracting as Ny'ari had initially imagined. He might even offer his services since it was his Veil that had been torn. She could go back to the clan and tell them all about how she saved the world with the Traitor's help. They wouldn't know how to react. She could tell Suran about it later if he wasn't still too angry with her. He would tut his obligatory disapproval of her blasphemy as First and then join her in laughing at the ridiculousness of such an idea.

But that thought would have to wait. Right now, she had to find a way to either continue or end her current conversation.

“I want to know more about you, Solas,” she said at last, more or less honestly.

“Why?” Solas asked.

Ny’ari flinched at that, ashamed to not have had a better thing to say. “You are an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition,” she said. And save her life, if Varric was to be believed.

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way,” Solas remarked.

“I appreciate the work you are doing, Solas,” Ny’ari pressed on. “I just want to know more about you.” Her hahren had always said she was nothing if not stubborn…well, stubborn and willfully ignorant, but she willfully ignored that second bit.

Solas stared at her in surprise a moment, then recovered himself. “I am sorry,” he said. “With so much fear in the air… What would you know of me?”

“What made you start studying the Fade?” Ny’ari asked.

Without magic, the Fade was something that would forever be beyond her reach. When Suran's magic first presented itself, she had peppered him with questions. She had wanted to know everything, but Suran hadn't wanted to talk about it. She had learned more from Solas about the Fade in a few minutes conversation than she had from Suran in a lifetime. She had only ever wanted to understand.

Solas was thoughtful a moment. “I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome."

Never imagined wonders sounded marvelous to Ny'ari, but all she'd ever heard about spirits ended in warnings that they were not to be trusted.

"Did spirits try to tempt you?" she asked.

Solas shook his head slightly. "No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore."

"I gather you didn't spend your entire life dreaming," Ny'ari remarked. He was here, after all, not snoozing in some village to the north.

"No, eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade," Solas said.

"Why?"

"Two reasons," Solas explained. "First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, you must be interesting."

"Is this why you joined the Inquisition?" Ny'ari asked.

"I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger. If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming in the Fade."

Ny'ari could feel the heat that had drained from her face while Solas talked come rushing back. Oh, right. Doom and despair were falling from the sky. "Well, I wish you luck," she said, feeling incredibly stupid.

"Thank you," Solas said. "In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade."

"How so?" Ny'ari asked, grasping for anything that might salvage the conversation.

"You train to flick a dagger to its target," Solas said. "The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I."

"So, you are suggesting I am graceful?" Ny'ari asked in a tone that was flirtier than she had intended. She had meant to sound more teasing, possibly mocking, because she thought of snowflakes and flowers and magic when she thought of grace. She was a hunter, frequently covered in gore from dressing her catch, violent enough to have once broken a suitor's nose over a perceived insult, and otherwise crass and uncultured—the furthest of the Dalish elves from the ideal of Elvhenan.

"No," Solas said. "I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate."

Ny'ari's stomach dropped as if a stone had fallen in it. She squirmed in her seat, fighting the urge to flee and collect her racing thoughts. She turned toward the fire in hopes that its glow would mask the blush she was now certain had visibly crept up her face.

"Hmm…" was all she could manage to articulate.

No one had ever spoken to her like that before.


	10. Ny'ari, Haven: Solas and Dinner

Ny'ari had nearly composed herself enough to open a new line of conversation when her stomach growled loudly and cut her off.

Solas chuckled softly. “Is it common in Clan Lavellan to go unreasonable lengths of time without eating or is that trait peculiar to you and your brother?” he asked.

“I…” Ny'ari began but failed to finish.

“But in all seriousness, you should learn to care for your health,” Solas continued. "Like it or not, the world is depending on you to be strong enough to do what it takes to save it."

Ny'ari took a deep breath and said nothing, eyes fixed on the piece of floor between the fire, Solas, and herself.

"We can start with dinner," Solas said, tone lightening some. "Have you been to the Singing Maiden?"

Ny'ari shook her head.

"It is an interesting place. Come." Solas stood and held out a hand to help Ny'ari out of her chair.

Ny'ari looked at Solas's hand for a moment, then stood on her own. She glanced at his face when she came to the abrupt realization that she may have offended him by ignoring his hand, but he only smiled at her and guided her out of the small house.

The Singing Maiden was down the stairs and up the path to the right. Ny'ari and Solas entered the building through the side door and everyone within stopped what they were doing to look at Ny'ari for a moment.

It was an unsettling reaction and Ny'ari faltered in the face of it. Solas put his hand on her back and gently encouraged her to keep moving forward with a gesture. Ny'ari stepped forward then again and by the time she had taken a half dozen steps, everyone had returned to their business.

"Oh, Maker, you're her," the bartender gasped when Ny'ari and Solas reached the bar. "You're the Herald of Andraste."

Ny'ari set her jaw but remained silent while the woman continued babbling.

"And you were sent to shame us for mistreating the elves. I pay my elves good and proper, you should know. Friend of the alienage and all, and…" She seemed to realize that she was rambling or that Ny'ari was less than impressed because she trailed off then. "I mean, I'm Flissa. Can I get you a drink?"

Ny'ari was silent for a beat. "I am not from an alienage," she said flatly. "I am Dalish."

Flissa turned about four shades of pink on her way to bright red. "Oh, right," she said. "Of course, because of the…the things on your face, yes."

"In any case," Ny'ari continued, "I would like a hot meal and an ale and…whatever he wants." She jerked her head in Solas's direction as she felt on her belt for her purse. Then she went a little pale, the lines of her vallaslin seeming to darken on her face. "I have no money," she admitted weakly.

"The Herald doesn't pay here," Flissa said. "Ever."

Ny'ari pursed her lips and was silent for a long moment, then she shook her head. "If you insist," she said and turned around saw that the patrons of the Singing Maiden had rearranged themselves to open a table for her. She sighed and slunk over to it.

"I hate this," she told Solas when he arrived at the table with the food and drinks.

"What do you hate?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

"All of it," Ny'ari answered, picking up her bread and beginning to tear it into little pieces. "The Herald part, the Maker part, the Breach part, the being surrounded by humans part. The way they watch us…" She dropped the last piece of bread onto her plate. "It is enough to make me lose my appetite."

"You should not let it bother you," Solas remarked.

"Why?" Ny'ari asked, leaning back. "Because I'm better than them? You sound like my hahren."

"No," Solas said, "although it goes without saying that you are, that mindset is less useful when applied to your situation. Like it or not, the mark on your hand means that, to many, you are now the Herald of Andraste and you have chosen to remain among those people rather than return to your clan."

"So, you are saying that I have made my bed?"

"More or less."

Ny'ari picked a scrap of bread off her plate and popped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly and swallowed. "Anyway," she said, "you said you traveled to many different places."

Solas was quiet for a moment, but then allowed Ny'ari's change of subject. "This world, or its memory, is reflected in the Fade," he explained. "Dream in ancient ruins and you may see a city lost to history." He smiled with nostalgia. "Some of my favorite memories were found in crumbling cities long picked dry by treasure seekers. The best are the battlefields. Spirits press so tightly on the Veil that you can slip across with but a thought."

"Any place in particular?" Ny'ari asked.

"I dreamt at Ostagar," Solas said. "I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Fereldan warriors. I saw Alistair and the Hero of Fereldan light the signal fire…and Loghain's infamous betrayal of Cailan's forces."

Even in the Free Marches, in a Dalish clan, Ny'ari knew about the Battle of Ostagar. Those clans-members who were trusted to trade safely with the humans would come back with tales of the Blight told second- and third-hand from Fereldan refugees. They would relate them in breathless whispers at night while the clan gathered around the fires to socialize, one eye kept out for the Keeper, who would scold them for sharing human gossip.

"I have heard the stories," Ny'ari said. "It would be interesting to hear what it was really like."

Solas shook his head. "That's just it. In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause."

Ny'ari frowned as she selected a morsel from her plate. "And you cannot tell which is real?"

"It is the Fade," Solas said. "They are all real."

Ny'ari considered that in silence as she continued to pick food from her plate. Solas shared her silence companionably. Ny'ari supposed that with all of his traveling away from civilization, he must be quite used to silence.

Except, that was assuming that he had always been alone and he hadn't said that. There could have been someone whom he hadn't mentioned. There could have been…a woman. That thought made Ny'ari jealous. She recognized the feeling from her experiences with the non-romantic variety.

But why should she be jealous? she asked herself. She barely knew Solas. She liked him very much, enjoyed talking with him, and trusted him in a fight, but if she strung all of her time with Solas together it would not even make up a single day.

For all she knew, Solas already had a lover. Ny'ari could imagine a beautiful apostate woman—or man, but Ny'ari's gut said woman—waiting just safely out of the Inquisition's reach for his return. She would be a mage like him so they could Fade-walk together and she would be interesting in ways Ny'ari had only ever dreamt of being.

"Have you always traveled and studied alone?" Ny'ari asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer.

"Not at all," Solas answered. "I have built many lasting friendships. Spirits of wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful would point out treasures I might have missed."

For some reason, the fact that Solas immediately began describing his friendships with spirits eased the knot in Ny'ari's stomach. "I do not know of any spirits by those names," she said, more relaxed.

"They rarely seek this world," Solas said. "When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and purpose are too easily twisted to pride and desire."

"You are saying that you became friends with pride and desire demons?" Ny'ari asked, thoughts of jealousy and other women now banished.

"They were not demons for me," Solas said.

"Meaning?" Ny'ari urged.

"The Fade reflects the minds of the living," he said. "If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt. And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends."

"I am impressed that you could become friends with spirits," Ny'ari said warmly. She like the idea of him being friends with spirits, even those that may or may not have been demons, a lot more than the idea of him being close with the beautiful, mysterious apostate woman of her imagination.

"Anyone who can dream has the potential," Solas said. "Few ever try. My friends comforted me in my grief and shared my joy. Yet because they exist without form as we know it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people. Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?"

Ny'ari could tell that Solas felt deeply about this, but she could not answer him. She was not a mage and had never consciously spoken with a spirit. She had been raised to revere the elven gods and ignore the Chantry's teachings, but she had never been asked to consider the personhood of a spirit.

Solas had given her something new to contemplate and maybe someday she would reach a conclusion, but for now, she diverted the conversation. "You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas," she said.

"I try," he replied, "…and that isn't quite an answer."

Ny'ari looked down at her nearly empty plate, thinking of a way to avoid answering again. When she looked up at Solas again, it was with a purposefully saccharine smile. "I look forward to helping you make new friends," she said.

"That should be…" Solas seemed to lose his train of thought and finished his sentence with a breathy, "well."

Ny'ari's sweet smile broke into a grin at that. She couldn't help it. She hadn't expected that reaction and it felt good, like fire in her veins in the best sort of way, the kind of fire that made her want to dance on tables or run outside and howl at the moon.

"That is not quite an answer, either," she teased, caging her enthusiasm as best she could.

Solas chuckled at that and Ny'ari laughed. This was dangerous, the way it made her heart flutter against her ribs. She wanted more, but the Dalish hunter in her was cautious, whispering warnings in the back of her mind. Be careful.

In any case, the fluttering was put to bed when movement near the door caught Ny'ari's eye and she saw her brother enter the tavern, looking wan and serious. He caught Ny'ari's eye and approached the table where she sat as her smile faded.

Suran stopped at the edge of the table and gave Solas a cool, appraising look before he returned his gaze to Ny'ari.

"I will stay," he told her. She was surprised by his use of the common tongue but held her reaction back to a slight widening of her eyes and parting of her lips as he continued. "You cannot stop me. If you send me away, I will return every time. I cannot let you be alone here."

Ny'ari pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying that she did not think she was alone. She did not want to fight with Suran and, even more so, she did not want to fight with Suran in front of Solas. She took a deep breath. "I understand," she said.

Now, Suran looked surprised. He hesitated, reeling. "Really? You do?" he asked.

"I am grown up enough to know where this will end, da'isa'ma'lin," Ny'ari said, trying to… _posture_ for Solas. Level-headed and mature looked good, didn't it? "There is no point in fighting about it anymore."

"I…I do not know what to say," Suran said.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" Ny'ari asked. The question rolled off her tongue as part of the persona she was trying to exude, but internally she kicked herself hard for asking it.

"That would be nice," Suran said and began to move toward the seat on Ny'ari's right but Solas stopped him.

"I should be going," Solas said. "Take my seat."

"Thank you," Suran said as Solas stood. He took the bald elf's seat.

Ny'ari waited until Solas had left the tavern to drop her forehead on the table next to her plate. "Ma de ryem te'dirtha," she said. _You were supposed to say no_.

"Ahnsul?" Suran asked. "Ahnsul ish'neras? Ryas son'dara. Tel'ish'dhruan." _Why? Because you like him? You should be careful. I don't trust him._

Ny'ari looked up at her brother. "Ahnsul telin'dhruas." _That's because you don't trust anyone._

Suran held Ny'ari's gaze for several seconds in silence, then he sighed and looked down. "Telir…telir'son'dara, da'asa'malin." _Just…just be careful, little sister._


	11. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: Scouting the Hinterlands

Days went by as Cassandra and Leliana pulled the Inquisition together. Leliana sent out ravens bearing calls to arms for those who had pledged their support for the Inquisition before the tragedy at the Conclave. Cassandra and Cullen organized the troops. An Antivan woman arrived and installed herself in the Chantry office. Suran got new armor from Harritt, which looked oddly fierce on him.

Ny'ari tried to learn how to deal with the various reactions to her presence from the inhabitants of Haven. It wasn't easy. Seggrit probably didn't know how close he'd come to getting decked as he clumsily retreated from calling Adan's assistant a knife-ear, for example. Threnn didn't do much better, assuming Ny'ari was there to clean. But there were others with whom it was easier. Ny'ari had no problems with Lysette and she liked to chat with Harritt, gruff and earthy as he was. She even ran an errand for Adan, looking for some lost alchemical papers.

All in all, though, Ny’ari was low on things to keep her occupied besides picking the mountainside clean of elfroot (a job she’d already half-completed), when Cassandra finally found her loitering around the training grounds.

“Ah, there you are,” Cassandra said.

“Here I am,” Ny’ari agreed rather lamely, turning her attention away from the templar— _former_ templar—who was overseeing training today and toward the seeker.

“It would be…appreciated if you attend the next War Table meeting,” Cassandra said.

“It would?” Ny’ari asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra replied.

Ny’ari was quiet for several seconds. She still wasn’t used to being important. The idea that the humans in charge wanted her to attend their closed-door meeting left her feeling a little off balance. “When is it?” she asked.

“Now,” Cassandra said.

Ny’ari pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh. Of course, it was now. She gestured toward Haven’s inner gate. “Lead the way,” she said when she trusted her voice not to give away her amusement.

The two women made their way back through Haven toward the Chantry in silence. Ny'ari felt every eye that was on them as they walked. People stared at her no matter where she went, but it was worse with Cassandra by her side. The seeker's presence said that something important was happening in the upper ranks of the Inquisition.

A glance in Cassandra's direction showed that the seeker bore the attention with greater stoicism, at least, than Ny'ari.

As they entered the Chantry, Ny'ari looked down at the mark on her hand and wondered if she would ever get used to it and the fame it brought her.

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked when she noticed where Ny’ari’s attention was directed.

Ny’ari thought for a moment. “Not really,” she said. At least, it did not bother her in comparison to before she’d sealed the initial rift. It no longer hurt and it was not getting any worse.

“What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach,” Cassandra said. It felt like a failed attempt at being comforting. “You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed—provided the mark has more power.” Cassandra paused, watching to make sure Ny’ari was following and then clarified, “The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“Clearly you have something in mind,” Ny’ari said.

“We do,” Cassandra replied before opening the door to the room which had been serving as the headquarters for the Inquisition since it had been declared.

Three people were waiting for Cassandra and Ny’ari there. Ny’ari knew Leliana and had seen Cullen from a distance before, but this was her first time laying eyes on the much talked of Antivan woman.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces?” Cassandra said, formally introducing the human man to Ny’ari.

“Such as they are,” Cullen said with a sigh. “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

He looked every inch what Ny’ari imagined the heroes of human legends ought to look like—ostentatious armor and dangerous weapon, but sweet and boyish around the face with golden curls and pale eyes and just enough of a scar to remind you that the trappings of war were not entirely for show. Yes, a perfectly appropriate _human_ hero.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” Cassandra indicated the Antivan woman.

“An’daran Atish’an,” Josephine greeted Ny’ari with a gracious smile. She was exotically beautiful, dark and dressed in gold.

“You speak elvhen?” Ny’ari asked in surprise.

“You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid,” Josephine replied with a chuckle. But it was enough to put Ny’ari at ease around her. Cassandra and Leliana had chosen their ambassador well.

“And, of course, you know Sister Leliana,” Cassandra concluded, directing Ny’ari’s attention to the redhead.

“My position here involves a degree of…” Leliana began.

“She is our spymaster,” Cassandra explained bluntly.

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana said like she was humoring a willful child.

There was a moment of strained silence. Everyone was looking at Ny’ari now, so she prompted, “Cassandra tells me you have a plan?”

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra said.

“Which means that we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana explained.

“And I still disagree,” Cullen said testily. “The templars could serve just as well.”

Cassandra sighed. Clearly, this was not the first time this issue had been discussed. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all,” Cullen cut her off. “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana snapped.

“ _I_ was a templar,” Cullen argued. “I know what they’re capable of.”

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” Josephine said, returning the conversation to the realm of reason. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition—and you, specifically.”

“Can you not simply ignore them?” Ny’ari asked. They had ignored the Chantry when they had formed the Inquisition in the first place. It seemed a little late to be worrying about denunciations now.

“If only that were possible,” Leliana said.

“Some are calling you—a Dalish elf—the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry,” Josephine explained. “The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra added, a little bitterly.

“It limits our options,” Josephine said. “Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“Just how am _I_ the ‘Herald of Andraste?’” Ny’ari asked. She’d been putting up with the title for nearly a week now and she still had not gotten to the bottom of why the humans had chosen it.

She knew who Andraste was…vaguely, but she did not what they believed she was heralding. Was Andraste supposed to return? Was she supposed to be receiving divine messages? She wasn’t. All she had was the mark on her hand and even that was currently quiet.

“People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste,” Cassandra said.

Ny’ari shook her head slowly.

Leliana spoke up, “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading—”

“Which we have not,” Cassandra pointed out.

Leliana gave Cassandra a cold, silent stare before returning her gaze to Ny’ari. “The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Cullen asked. There was something disarming in the quirk of an almost-smile on his face.

“It is…a little unsettling,” Ny’ari admitted, a little more honestly than she might have otherwise considered appropriate.

Cullen chuckled. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree,” he said.

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign,” Leliana said.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine added rather ominously.

“Will the Chantry attack us?” Ny’ari asked, thinking of the first thing that came to mind when angry humans were mentioned.

“With what?” Cullen asked dismissively. “They have only words at their disposal.”

“And yet, they may bury us with them,” Josephine said.

“There is something you can do,” Leliana said. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?” Ny’ari asked. And an elf, at that, she thought.

“I understand she is a reasonable sort,” Leliana explained. “Perhaps she doesn’t agree with her sisters? I understand Mother Giselle is tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

Ny’ari realized that all eyes were on her again and she got the sinking feeling that she would be going on her own to the Hinterlands to meet with this strange Chantry woman. Her eyes fell on the pin in the map to the southeast of Haven. She was already further south than she’d ever been in her life.

“You should look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there,” Cullen said.

Ny’ari’s head snapped up at this additional task.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them,” Josephine explained.

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald,” Cassandra said.

But it wasn’t as cut and dried as it seemed at all. They still needed to send scouts to the Hinterlands to secure a base of operations and assess the situation there. It would take time, but it made Ny’ari feel much better to know that she wouldn’t be left to just sink or swim according to her abilities.

Then the discussion turned toward other tasks and for a while, Ny’ari felt comfortably forgotten. The Teyrn of Highever invited the Inquisition to attend a vigil in remembrance of the late Divine. Varric requested Josephine’s help tracking down the author of _Hard in Hightown 3: The Re-Punchening_ , a plagiarized book which sounded like a waste of paper to Ny’ari except for the face it made Josephine pull as she read the title. There were some other small things as well, but then Josephine pulled a paper from her stack and handed it to Ny’ari.

“It’s from your clan,” she explained, but Ny’ari had already recognized her Keeper’s handwriting. “We received it earlier today.”

The letter was not addressed to Ny’ari specifically, worded carefully to avoid offending her human captors. It requested word either of what crime she had committed or of her well-being. Suran was not mentioned. Ny’ari read the letter three times to be sure. She couldn’t tell if this was because Istimaethoriel was trying to avoid implicating him whatever crime she feared Ny’ari had committed or because the clan believed that he had died in the blast. Her fingers trembled around the paper as she thought of her poor Mae, not knowing anything and worrying about her foolish children.

“What would you like us to do?” Josephine asked.

Ny’ari took a moment to compose herself. She wished she could consult with Suran first. “Well,” she said slowly. “I am not here as a prisoner…” She paused to gauge the reactions of the four humans, “…so we should send word that I am here willingly.”

“My troops can deliver news of your safety and make it clear that the Inquisition should be taken seriously,” Cullen suggested.

Ny’ari knew he meant well—well, she hoped he meant well—but the idea of human troops going anywhere near her people made her cringe. “Have you ever met a Dalish clan before, Commander?” she asked as gently as she could.

Cullen recoiled. “I have not,” he admitted.

Ny’ari shook her head. “It would not be wise to approach them with weapons.”

“Your people must be approached carefully,” Josephine agreed. “One of our elven scribes could deliver a message and share news of the Inquisition’s fair treatment.”

Ny’ari began to nod slowly. This Antivan woman might not know elves as well as she knew humans, but she was far more astute than the Commander.

“The Dalish respect deeds, not words,” Leliana said. “Let my elven agents deliver something the clan needs as a show of good faith.”

“That!” Ny’ari said. “That is the best idea yet. Talk is cheap but actions come a little dearer. My people will respect a gift of something useful far more than words of reassurance and they will respect the Inquisition more for having thought of it. Only…would it be possible to include a letter from my brother and myself?”

“Of course,” Leliana said. “I can send it with the briefing to my agents.”

Ny’ari took a step back from the table. “May I show this to my brother?” she asked, holding up the letter from Istimaethoriel.

“Certainly,” Josephine said.

“Then I will go show him now,” Ny’ari said. “Un…unless you need me for anything else?”

The four humans were silent a moment, then Cassandra sighed. “Go,” she said.

Ny’ari backed out of the room and walked, quite sedately she thought, out of the Chantry. As soon as she was through the doors, though, she broke into a run.

She caught Suran on the path down to the lake.

“Da’isa’ma’lin!” she called to stop him as she raced toward him.“Ithas’min,” she said breathlessly, shoving the letter in his face as soon as she reached him. _Read this._

“Re’ahn?” Suran asked, snatching the paper out of his sister’s hand. _What is it?_

“Vallasav o’Istimaethoriel,” Ny’ari replied, but Suran was already reading. _A letter from Istimaethoriel._

“Jutua’ahn?” Suran asked when he was finished reading. _What will they do?_

“Lanunen,” Ny’ari said, “i vallasav o’m’an.” _Gifts and a letter from us._

Suran read the letter again. “Ane em’avahnal vara?” he asked. _Are you asking me to leave?_

“Ane drual?” Ny’ari asked. _Are you offering?_

“Te.” _No._

“O’te,” Ny’ari said. “Ame em’avahnal vallasav’vallasa. Te’neras vallasa.” _Then, no. I’m asking you to write the letter. I don’t like writing._


	12. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: The Letter

The following morning, Ny’ari brought the completed letter to Leliana. She found the spymaster in the tent that had been set up in front of the Chantry, on her knees and praying. She hesitated, then, not wanting to interrupt.

“Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written,” Leliana prayed. “Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that your will is done? Is death your only blessing?”

Ny’ari felt bad for the woman. The deaths at the Conclave were bad enough to anyone, but there must be a special kind of hurt for those who worshipped the human religion. As if all the Dalish Keepers were killed at once, leaving their Firsts to muddle forward—but that wouldn’t be a first for the elves.

Just as Ny’ari felt her thoughts slipping toward the negative, Leliana finished praying and stood, turning her attention toward the elf.

“You speak for Andraste, no?” she asked. “What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s His game?”

“How is this a game?” Ny’ari asked in reply, caught off guard.

“Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust?” Leliana asked. “Even if you didn’t support the Divine’s peace, you wouldn’t call this right. Who could? So many innocent lives—the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?”

Ny’ari did see the sky and the images of the temple ruins with the victims twisted into horrific shapes were only too easy to summon. She’d been trying to block them out ever since she woke up after stabilizing the Breach.

“I speak for no one but myself, and I have no answers for you,” she said. She supposed they might find the person responsible and wring answers from him. But it was just as terrifyingly likely that he, that shadowed figure from the vision, might have died in the blast. Worse, he might live and never be found. Whatever the case, Ny’ari doubted Leliana would ever get answers from her Maker.

“You probably don’t even worship the Maker,” Leliana replied bitterly. “Lucky. He asks a lot. The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths. Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!”

“I am sorry,” Ny’ari said. “Her death has clearly hit you hard.” She didn’t know how else to respond. Leliana’s words struck deep in her.

“Not just me. All of us,” Leliana continued. “She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart! If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He? I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing.”

Leliana was living out one of Ny’ari’s secret fears. Her gods were helpless to aide her people when they needed it, trapped behind the Veil, but what if—had they been free and as powerful as they had ever been—they allowed the elves to fall regardless? What if without the Veil the only part of history to change would be the elves falling on their knees, weeping and praying, begging to know why their gods had abandoned them? Those were the kind of thoughts that haunted Ny’ari when she was alone on the hunt. The ones she had learned to keep to herself because her hahren said she asked too many questions.

“I am not really the best person to talk to,” she said, feeling cold and ill at ease. “Does the Chantry not have people for this?”

“So, I should let a priest comfort me?” Leliana scoffed. “No, this is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again. Come. To work then. We will speak later.”

Ny’ari was relieved to be released from that conversation and stalked away from the tent, tapping the letter nervously against her hand. She was about halfway back to her house when she remembered that her intention had been to give the letter to Leliana. She immediately turned and went back.

“So, it’s true,” Leliana was saying when Ny’ari arrived back at the tent. “Butler has turned on us. I hoped my hunch was wrong.”

“You knew him well?” the spy who was reporting asked.

“Not as well as I thought,” Leliana said. “Show me the reports.”

The meeting seemed too important to interrupt, so Ny’ari kept herself at a distance, just close enough to give Leliana the letter once the meeting was finished.

“There were so many questions surrounding Farrier’s death,” Leliana sighed. “Did he think we wouldn’t notice? He’s killed Farrier. One of my best agents. And he knows where the others are. You know what must be done. Make it clean. Painless, if you can. We were friends once.”

There was a sick twist in Ny’ari’s stomach. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew it wasn’t her place, that she should just keep her mouth shut and let the spymaster do her job, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

“Wait. What are you doing?” she asked, pushing off the tent post against which she’d come to rest.

“He betrayed us,” Leliana said. “He murdered my agent.”

“And you would kill him? Just like that?” Ny’ari knew that Leliana’s answer was not unreasonable, but she was like a rock tumbling down a cliffside. She couldn’t stop herself from speaking.

“You find fault with my decision?” Leliana asked.

“We cannot solve our problems with murder,” Ny’ari replied.

“And what would you suggest? Leave him be? Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens. I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.”

Ny’ari was acutely aware that she was dealing with things she did not completely understand. The best answer she had was what her uncle had told her mother when she had been unfairly harsh in her punishment of child Ny’ari. Perhaps it was too simple for a situation like this, but it was all she could think of. “If you do not like what you do, it is a pretty good sign you are doing something bad.”

“That is certainly one way to put it,” Leliana said with something between a sigh and a laugh. “Very well. I will think of another way to deal with this man.” She turned to the spy, “Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives.”

The spy saluted and left the tent.

“Now, if you’re happy, I have more work to do,” Leliana told Ny’ari.

“Yes, of course,” Ny’ari said. “I just…” She darted forward and dropped the letter on the table next to Leliana. “For my clan.”

Ny’ari turned and marched out of the tent, nerves thrumming with apprehension. What had she just done? She had gotten in the way of the Inquisition’s spymaster. She shouldn’t have done that. What if more people died because of her?

She made her way ever closer to the training grounds and the sound of false battle. Maybe she would slip away to the abandoned house in the wood for a few moments of peace.

Then, she stopped, surprised to see Commander Cullen overseeing training. The former templar who usually filled that role stood beside him.

Cullen’s back was broad and fur-mantled. From this angle, he looked almost wild—not in a Dalish way because even cloaked in fur an elf maintained his slenderness, but like an animal, perhaps a bear. That comparison was in his favor over the other humans surrounding him.

“You there!” he called out to one of the soldiers. “There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it. If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.” He turned to the other former templar, “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander.” The lieutenant saluted and walked away as Ny’ari approached.

“We’ve received a number of recruits,” Cullen began explaining once Ny’ari was beside him, “locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made _quite_ the entrance you did.”

“At least I got everyone’s attention,” Ny’ari joked more easily than she had anticipated, still tense from what had passed with Leliana.

“That you did,” Cullen agreed heartily before moving forward through the ranks of training soldiers to continue his inspection—Ny’ari was forced to walk quickly to keep up. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising—I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

“Ser!” One of Leliana’s agents approached and gave Cullen a report.

He glanced over it as he continued speaking. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“You left the templars for this. You believe the Inquisition can work?” Ny’ari asked. She supposed she hadn’t really thought about what had led Cullen from the templars to the Inquisition but she hadn’t expected it to be Cassandra. She had gotten the impression in the war table meeting that the Commander and the Seeker butted heads more often than not.

“I do,” Cullen answered while Ny’ari savored her surprise. “The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act where the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can—” He caught himself before his enthusiasm for their cause ran away from him. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

Ny’ari grinned. “No, but if you have one prepared, I would love to hear it,” she teased.

Cullen laughed. “Another time, perhaps.”

Ny’ari broadened her grin and he faltered.

“I, ah…” he cleared his throat. “There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

A scout approached, then. “Commander! Ser Rylan has a report on our supply lines.”

“As I was saying,” Cullen said as means of closing the conversation before going off with the man, leaving Ny’ari to watch his back as he departed.

Perhaps he wasn’t so much a bear as, what was it the Fereldans called the great pups they raised, a Mabari? Not wild, after all. Disappointing…but still rather cute.

Ny’ari grinned again, though no one was looking, and wandered around the tents to where the practice dummies were. She stopped when Cassandra nearly took the head off of one and grunted in disgust.

“I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff,” she remarked.

“That would be nice,” Cassandra agreed sourly.

“Like maybe iron,” Ny’ari suggested, looking at the state of the dummy.

“Did I do the right thing?” Cassandra asked suddenly before she began attacking a new dummy. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life. One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

“What does your faith tell you?” Ny’ari asked, trying to remain neutral and avoid getting back on the woman’s bad side.

“I believe you are innocent,” Cassandra said. “I believe more is going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot. But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

“You do not think I am the Herald of Andraste?” Ny’ari asked in surprise. She had rather thought that faithful Cassandra would have jumped on the ‘Herald’ wagon, even if she hadn’t begun there.

“I think you were sent to help us,” Cassandra explained, then corrected herself. “I hope you were. But the Maker’s help takes many forms. Sometimes it’s difficult to discern who it truly benefits, or how.”

“What is going to happen now?” Ny’ari asked. Cassandra was the woman with the plan, after all, the effective leader of the Inquisition, officially or otherwise.

“Now we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm. Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can. After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

Ny’ari was beginning to remark a fondness for lists in the Seeker. If the Inquisition was still about and she was still a part of it by the time Cassandra’s birthday came, she might be tempted to buy the woman a little notebook to keep them all in. _Happy birthday and thank you for not killing me._

“Isn’t it a bit late to worry about it now?” Ny’ari asked before her thoughts drove her away from the thread of the conversation.

“We have only just begun,” Cassandra replied. “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Ny’ari shrugged. “It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me.” She could afford to be forgiving since the woman had already proclaimed her innocent.

“I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone,” Cassandra said and began to walk away, toward the gates of Haven. Then she paused and turned back. “I’m curious. Do you even believe in the Maker?” she asked.

“I’m Dalish. I believe in our own gods,” Ny’ari said firmly.

“And there’s no room among your gods for one more?” Cassandra asked. She sounded so sad, like she did not even realize what a ridiculous question she was asking. How could Ny’ari follow a god whose worshippers did not believe she was as much a person as they?

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Cassandra continued, relieving Ny’ari of the pressure to answer. “I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.”


	13. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: Feeling Out of Place

Ny’ari remained where she was until Cassandra was out of sight. She had thought maybe, just maybe, she was starting to get along better with the woman, but… Humans. She shook her head and started up toward the gate of Haven herself.

She found Varric loitering around the fire in the middle of town. It was his usual haunt and with good reason; he probably heard all of the daytime gossip before going to the Singing Maiden for the nighttime gossip.

Ny’ari dropped down in front of the fire and made a show of warming herself up. “Can I ask you something, Varric?” she said after a while.

“You want to talk about me?” Varric asked. “I’m flattered. Also, inclined toward extravagant lies.”

Of course, he was. That was very Varric of him. It was part of his charm. Ny’ari had to admit that she liked him more than she should—not in a romantic way, of course; his chest hair was the stuff of nightmares. Everything she knew of him thus far said she shouldn’t trust him, but she did. Well, somewhat. She trusted him more than she trusted Leliana, for example.

“Are you from Fereldan?” she suddenly wondered, realizing she knew next to nothing about the dwarf, or anyone in the Inquisition for that matter. “Orlais?”

“Free Marches,” he replied, not unexpectedly based on his accent but Ny’ari had been curious to see if he would lie. “Born and raised in Kirkwall. And despite whatever you’ve heard, no. Kirkwall’s not that bad.”

Ny’ari considered that in silence for a moment, then decided to veer away from the clearly touchy subject of his hometown. “I am not clear on your line of work,” she said at last. “You are a merchant?” It was a blind guess based on stereotypes she’d heard of surface dwarves and Varric promptly corrected her.

“I’m a businessman,” he said. “My family has a seat in the Dwarven Merchants Guild. Merchants buy and sell goods. Businessmen buy and sell stores. In my spare time, I manage a spy network. And occasionally, I write books.”

Ny’ari was a little dazzled by Varric’s list of occupations. All Ny’ari could boast of doing in her spare time was playing chess and annoying the hahren. “If you have run a spy network, why is Leliana our spymaster?” she asked.

“To be honest with you, she’s just a better spymaster,” Varric replied. “The truly great ones can keep their distance. They don’t get attached to their people.”

Ny’ari felt a sting as she remembered how she had stopped Leliana from killing that traitor. Had she done the right thing? 

“Me?” Varric continued, not remarking Ny’ari’s concern or not revealing that he had, at least. “I always wind up babysitting my informants and worrying about their families. We’re in better hands with her.”

“And you are an author?” Ny’ari asked. “What kind of books have you written?”

“I’ve tried my hand at a few genres,” Varric replied. “My crime serials are my most popular. _Hard in Hightown._ Guards breaking the rules to get things done. _The Tale of the Champion_ is the most famous thing I’ve written. Or infamous, maybe. I started a romance serial once. _Swords and Shields._ But, to be honest, I don’t have the knack for romances. Most of my stories end in tragedy. Probably that says something unfortunate about me personally.”

Ny’ari filed away the titles that Varric mentioned. Suran had a fondness for books and she was curious if her brother had read any of them.

“What sort of shops do you own?” she asked to round out her questions about Varric’s occupations.

“Actually, we don’t own shops,” Varric admitted. “That was just an example. Mostly, we invest in money lenders. Auction houses, a few mercenary companies, a couple of smithies. I think we own half of a beet plantation in Rivain somewhere. Most of that’s my brother’s doing. Bartrand had business sense. Not much tact, but loads of business sense.”

Ny’ari noted the use of the past tense with regard to Varric’s brother but didn’t dare to pry. Instead, she changed the subject. “How do you and Cassandra know each other?”

“You heard about the Kirkwall chantry being destroyed? The guy responsible used to be a friend of mine. The Seeker had questions about that, and I had answers.”

Ny’ari realized she had just stumbled onto a subject more sensitive than she had anticipated, so she jumped over to a new subject, trying to find something safe to talk about.

“Where did you get that crossbow?” she asked. “I have never seen one like it.”

“Bianca?” Varric asked proudly. “She’s one of a kind. There’s a hidden shop in Kirkwall called the Black Emporium. I found her in a barrel labeled ‘swag.’ The owner sold her to me for a ham sandwich and a pair of yellow ruffled pants.”

Ny’ari grinned at that and held down a laugh. This, apparently, was where the extravagant lies came in. “Who is she named for?” she asked, curious to see what tale Varric would spin around that.

“I can’t tell you,” Varric replied.

“And the reasons for that is…” Ny’ari said, suspecting he was baiting her.

“Complicated,” the dwarf said. “It’s the one story I’ll never tell. We’ll just have to leave it at that.”

“Hm…” Ny’ari said and stood up, deciding that she was not going to land on a safe topic during this conversation and opting to call a retreat, original question long since forgotten. “Thanks, Varric,” she said. It had become her standard goodbye since their first conversation in Haven.

“No problem,” he replied with an indulgent sort of smile.

Ny’ari wandered back in the direction of her house, looking for Suran. It was odd to think of that building as her house, especially since she’d never had a house in her life. It gave her a sort of settled feeling that she wasn’t certain she wanted to have. It was a solid place, her house, and warm. It was comfortable and alien all at once.

Suran wasn’t there when she arrived. Ny’ari didn’t know what he did with his time but, when she thought about it, that wasn’t very different from when they were living with the clan. She would be off hunting and he would be studying his magic and they would see quite little of each other in a day. She only noticed now because they were so far removed from everything else that was normal.

Ny’ari flopped down on the bed, not tired. When she felt this way in the clan, she filled a pack, armed herself to the teeth and disappeared into the wilderness for a few days. She always came back with enough meat to forgive whatever worry she had caused. But she doubted Cassandra would take venison as payment for wandering off without a word.

Ny’ari groaned and pulled herself up off the bed. Suran’s pack leaned against the wall in the corner, fat. Ny’ari snatched it up to see if he’d kept anything interesting from among the things Mae had sent them on their mission with. She hissed in disgust to find it filled only with severed flesh from demons.

Ah, yes. He had said that he was told to collect those parts for some researcher named Mirae or something. He must not have gotten around to delivering said collections.

Ny’ari closed the pack and slung it on her back. It was something to do. Now all she had to do was find out where this Mirae was.

After asking around, Ny’ari was told that the researcher _Minaeve_ had been set up in the chantry office and so that was where she took the demon bits.

“The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you cannot prove that it was founded on Justinia’s orders,” a man with an Orlesian accent and ridiculous clothing said as Ny’ari opened the door and froze on the realization that she was interrupting something.

“This is an inopportune time, Marquis,” Josephine replied to the man. “More faithful flock here every day.” She turned to usher Ny’ari closer and direct the masked man’s attention to her. “But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach. Mistress Lavellan, this is the Marquis DuRellion, one of the Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven,” the Marquis added testily. “House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This ‘Inquisition’ is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of Haven having an owner outside the Chantry,” Ny’ari said honestly.

“My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden,” the Marquis explained. “We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is… She was a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”

Ny’ari didn’t really understand any of that except that the Marquis wanted them gone. But gone where? They didn’t exactly have aravels to just pack up and move on. “People have been injured,” she said. “You can’t just turn them out onto the snow.”

“And who benefits if they stay?” the Marquis asked.

Ny’ari clenched her fist and wondered how much trouble she would get into if she decked the arrogant prick right there and then.

“Divine Justinia, Marquis,” Josephine replied quickly before Ny’ari was finished with her ethical calculations. “The Inquisition—not the Chantry—is sheltering the pilgrims who mourn her.”

The Marquis seemed genuinely surprised by that, though it was hard to tel under his mask. “Why is the Chantry ignoring the faithful?”

“Because it remains in shock,” Josephine said.

The Marquis hesitated.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace,” Josephine continued. “Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they may seem.”

“I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet,” the Marquis said, his defeat clear in his voice. “The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.”

He left in something of a hurry then, possibly to avoid letting Josephine talk him into further concessions. Ny’ari watched him go, then turned to Josephine, impressed.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I did not realize you were meeting with the Marquis,” she said softly. She usually didn’t mind being taken for a savage by humans, but there was something about Josephine that made her want to at least pretend to be civilized for her.

“You did little harm,” Josephine said. “In truth, the debate was most beneficial as practice for those to come.”

Ny’ari felt a little sick at the thought. “You expect more people in Haven?”

“Undoubtedly,” Josephine replied. “And each visitor will spread the story of the Inquisition after they depart. An ambassador should ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible.”

Well, as long as Josephine was the one fielding the crazy nobles, Ny’ari supposed it wouldn’t be so bad. Josephine knew how to handle them like Ny’ari knew how to handle game. “I’m glad for your help,” she said. “I have a feeling the Inquisition’s going to need it.”

“I do believe you are correct,” Josephine said. “Thedas’s politics have become…agitated as of late. I hope to guide us down smoother paths. But please excuse me. I’ve much work to do before the day is done.”

Ny’ari gave a nod as a sort of awkward substitute for a bow. She didn’t know how she was supposed to say goodbye to important people in a civilized way and that was her best attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Ny'ari and Suran for visual reference. I have very little sense of aesthetics (and am playing on PS4, so no prettifying mods), so you have likely imagined them more attractive, but if you were curious about what they look like to me...well, I thought I'd shared them, so here they are.
> 
> https://imgur.com/4R3lL1U
> 
> https://imgur.com/22dXliu


	14. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: Unpleasantness about Elves

Ny’ari turned and looked around the office and found an elf tending to various jars and bottles on a table in the corner. Ny’ari went to her, intending to ask about the researcher, Minaeve, but the elf looked up first.

“You’re the Herald,” she said in mild surprise on seeing Ny’ari approach. “Or, well, the one they’re calling the Herald, anyway.”

Ny’ari immediately took a liking to this young elf woman. Something was soothing about her voice and the way she talked. She didn’t even mind being called the Herald…well, mostly didn’t mind.

“I hope the Inquisition can restore order soon,” the elf continued. “I never really wanted to leave the Circle. My name is Minaeve. I research demons and other creatures. Seeker Pentaghast and I use what I find to help the soldiers fight them.”

Ny’ari had not for a moment suspected that Minaeve would be an elf and a mage. She was proud that one of her people had reached a position of relative respect in the Inquisition without needing a magic mark on her hand. And she did consider Minaeve one of her people—she did not suffer from that incurable subservience that Ny’ari saw in other city elves.

“You said you were a mage?” she asked.

“No, just an apprentice,” Minaeve said. “I was never very good at magic. I’ve got just enough talent to be a danger to other people. When the mages rebelled, people like me had nowhere to go. The templars would have killed us. Luckily, Seeker Pentaghast took me in, along with the Tranquil I was protecting.”

“I’m surprised that even an apprentice mage wouldn’t join the rebellion,” Ny’ari remarked.

“I don’t like using magic to fight,” Minaeve explained. “I’m not good at it, either. I like studying. I liked performing rituals that help us unlock the secrets of the Veil. I liked having the templars around to keep us safe.”

Aside from the templars bit and the surprising fact that her brother had turned out to be rather good at fighting with magic, Ny’ari thought that Minaeve and Suran had a lot in common. It might be nice to introduce the two and see what happened. Minaeve would probably fit in quite well with the clan.

“You might have done well among the Dalish,” she remarked. “Our mages are encouraged to study safely.”

The moment Ny’ari mentioned the Dalish, however, Minaeve’s expression changed.

“Fen’harel take the Dalish,” she said, catching Ny’ari completely off guard. “Don’t let my lack of vallaslin fool you, _lethallin._ I was a proud member of my clan until my magic manifested. You know what happens when they have too many mages. They gave me a pack and sent me into the woods to find my own life. I was seven years old.”

Ny’ari’s mind reeled. She’d never heard of a clan having too many mages. The clans that moved in circles near hers had all been sparsely populated with mages. Suran was the only Lavellan mage in his generation. They would have celebrated having more.

She had always known that, in theory, there was a limit on the number of mages in a clan and that there must have been some plan for what to do in such a case, but she had never imagined that it might be something like that.

“My clan never did that,” she told Minaeve. “We sent those gifted with magic to other clans or…”

She trailed off because she didn’t know. She had always assumed that was the case, but she didn’t know. She wanted to run back up to the Free Marches and demand answers from Istimaethoriel. She wanted to present Minaeve to her Keeper and demand to know that Clan Lavellan would never do that to one of its children.

“I stumbled into a village, starving and cold, a few weeks later,” Minaeve continued. “I’d started using magic to scare predators away. The villagers saw me make fire in my fist. They were terrified and wanted to kill me. Templars saved me from them. They gave me food and clothes, and took me to the Circle. I’ve seen what life is like without the templars and I want no part of it. I just want to study.”

“Well, I brought you some things to study,” Ny’ari said. She dropped the pack onto the desk.

Minaeve thanked her for the research materials and Ny’ari escaped the office as quickly as she could without seeming rude.

She felt off balance as she walked out of the chantry like one leg was too short, and her vallaslin burned with the memory of the pain it had taken to put it on her face. She felt so ashamed for her people. How could they do that to one of their own?

It struck Ny’ari then, as she stepped through the chantry doors and stopped, that the reason Minaeve’s voice had sounded so soothing was that she had a Dalish accent. However small she had been when she was cast out, Minaeve had maintained her Dalish accent.

Ny’ari thought of the other comforting voice in Haven. She rejected the idea. It wasn’t possible, but… She tried to conjure an example of his voice to disprove the creeping fear but it was all filtered through her own voice and accent.

He’s a mage, she thought darkly.

But what he told you about himself doesn’t match that idea, she argued back.

That could be a convenient lie to smooth things over, her dark thoughts replied.

Really, all there was for it was to go find Solas and speak with him about it.

Ny’ari hesitated. She didn’t want to think any worse of her people than Minaeve’s story had caused her to. It would be so easy to just go down the path to the right, down to her house, and pretend that she had never had any of these treacherous thoughts in the first place. Still, she turned to the left.

Solas was just returning to his house when Ny’ari arrived. He greeted her warmly and invited her inside, indicating that she should pull up a chair as he tended to starting the fire.

“Now, what can I do for you?” he asked once they were settled. There it was, the lilt in his accent. It was slightly different from Minaeve’s and Ny’ari’s but it was definitely more closely related to a Dalish accent than to any human accent she had ever heard.

Ny’ari hesitated a second, not sure how to bring up her intended subject without sounding too blunt.

“I’d be interested in hearing your opinion on elven culture,” she ended up saying.

“I thought you would be more interested in sharing _your_ opinions of elven culture,” Solas replied sourly. “You are Dalish, are you not?”

Ny’ari resisted the urge to rise to the challenge. She tried to maintain an even tone as she replied with the most neutral thing that came to mind, “My people come from the elves who refused to surrender when humans broke their treaty and destroyed the Dales.”

“Your Keeper was not wrong about that, at least,” Solas acknowledged before his tone turned sour again. “We must mark the occasion of the Dalish remembering something correctly. Perhaps we should plant a tree.”

As usual, Ny’ari found her mouth to be faster than her mind. “You insult my people,” she snapped.

“They insult themselves,” Solas snapped back. “Remember, I have walked the memories of the Fade. I have seen the history the Dalish imitate.”

Ny’ari could not answer that immediately, as she seethed inwardly. Was that Solas’s only complaint against her people? A failure of memory? And his proof was what he had seen in the Fade? As if he, himself, had not said barely a week before that the memories of the Fade were not reliable sources of history. Minaeve had been a million times more compelling.

But Ny’ari did not want to make this into a fight any more than she already had. No matter Solas’s opinions on the Dalish, he was an asset to the Inquisition and, even if they could not be friends as Ny’ari had hoped, she refused to be the means of causing trouble by chasing him away.

She summoned the attitude she used for making peace in the clan when the time came to stop harassing her elders. “Ir abelas, hahren,” she said softly. “If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right. What course would you set for them that is better than what they know now?”

“You are right, of course,” Solas said. “The fault is mine, for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish.” His tone was still bitter, but he had visibly relaxed. He took a breath and, when he spoke again, all of his fighting spirit had been replaced with a quiet sadness. “Ir abelas, da’len,” he said. “If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask.”

Solas’s use of elvhen struck Ny’ari. She had never heard him speak it before and it made her realize that she had been operating under the assumption that, just because he didn’t speak elvhen with her, he couldn’t. After all, she spoke it freely with Suran and purposefully maintained her strong Dalish accent, even though she could affect a perfectly good Free Marcher accent if and when she chose.

Granted, Solas had only said three words, which hardly comprised a fluent vocabulary. Yet Ny’ari’s instincts told her he was fluent by the way the words rolled off his tongue. She hated to admit it, but those three words had soothed some of her anger. Maybe Solas had never lived in a clan, but he had learned the language somewhere and Ny’ari highly doubted it was in the Fade. Whatever he thought of the Dalish, he cared enough about the same history they were trying to remember to learn and maintain the language. She couldn’t hate him simply for having different ideas about what that lost history was.

“I’d like to know more about the elves from before our time,” Ny’ari said. Even if she disagreed with what Solas thought, and she was fairly certain she would, she wanted to know what it was. She looked into the fire to mask her disappointment. She had had such high hopes for a friendship with Solas, too.

“The Dalish strive to remember Halamshiral,” Solas said, “but Halamshiral was merely a fumbling attempt to recreate a forgotten land.”

“Arlathan,” Ny’ari supplied, eager to prove she knew some history, too.

“Elvhenan was the empire,” Solas corrected softly, “and Arlathan, its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty, lost to time.”

“You’ve studied ancient elves. What else do you know of Arlathan?” Ny’ari pressed, unsatisfied with the vagueness of his answer. Who in their right mind would argue that the ancient elves had not lived in a place of magic and beauty?

“We hear stories of them living in trees and imagine wooden ramps or Dalish aravels,” Solas answered. “Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost.”

It all sounded so pretty and idealized to Ny’ari. Spires of crystal were more suited to fairy stories than history. Certainly, if such a place had ever existed, Ny’ari would have loved to live there, but the seed of doubt festered because this beautiful image had been found in the ever-changing Fade.

Thinking about a perfect past also made the present seem so much bleaker. Ny’ari had grown up in an aravel, not a floating palace. She thought of her concerns about her people and wondered if the well-traveled Solas might, for all his spite, have some insight into wider Dalish practices that was not completely poisoned.

“Are all Dalish elves like my clan?” she asked.

“No,” Solas replied. “Your clan was unique in having enough interest in human affairs to send you to spy upon the Divine’s meeting. As your clans have been separate for so long, they have all changed, adapting to the lands in which they live. Some are no more than bandits, some trade freely with humans, and some have disappeared entirely into the forests.”

Solas could have no idea what a comfort it was to Ny’ari to hear that. It was enough to make her hope that Minaeve’s clan was some sort of anomaly.

“What can you tell me about elves living in human cities?” she asked, suddenly curious if Solas’s animosity was limited to the Dalish.

“The culture in alienages or among the slaves of Tevinter is like any of the impoverished and powerless,” Solas replied with little emotion. “They cling to memories of a better past and practice a few rituals to distinguish themselves from humans.”

And that was that. It was a little anticlimactic to hear, but now she knew. Ny’ari was not about to defer to Solas as the definitive expert on elven culture, but at least she had listened to his opinions. It was more than many others in her clan might have done. In any case, there was another subject on which she had already deemed him a wise and valuable expert: magic.

“Is elven magic different from the magic used by humans?” she asked, turning the conversation in that direction.

“No and yes,” Solas answered. “Magic is magic, just as water is water, but it can be used in different ways. Dalish magic is more practical, not needing Chantry approval, although they still frown on blood magic. Superstition. Much of it is more subtle, a legacy from a time when elves were immortal.”

Ny’ari knew she shouldn’t ask, that she was just leading the subject back towards delicate ground, where an argument might blossom at the slightest provocation. But she couldn’t help herself. Her curiosity had always been one of her weaknesses.

“The legends of elven immortality…did they use magic to increase their lifespan?” she asked.

“No,” Solas answered, “it was simply part of being elven. The subtle beauty of their magic was the effect, not the cause, of their nature. Some spells took years to cast. Echoes would linger for centuries, harmonizing with new magic in an unending symphony. It must have been beautiful.”

The way Solas talked, with a certainty as if he had been there and a mournful longing that reminded Ny’ari more than a little of the clan elders though she would never say so, made her think that he must have a much better imagination than she did.

Ny’ari didn’t know much about magic, so she could not imagine an unending symphony of it and the idea of immortality was vaguely horrific to her, living as she did in a world of mortals who cherished their lives all the more because of their fleeting nature. Maybe she was just a failure as an elf.

“You said that the censure against blood magic was a superstition…” she said, directing the conversation back to the modern era.

“I did. It’s fortunate Cassandra is not within earshot,” Solas said and grinned for a moment before returning to a more stoic expression.

Ny’ari realized that, although Solas was far too well aware of his position to do anything that would compromise him, he had clearly thought about riling the Seeker or someone like her with such controversial statements before.

“Most modern cultures forbid blood magic,” Solas continued. “Publicly, even Tevinter disapproves of it. But, as I said, magic is magic. It matters only in how it is used.”

“To be honest, I don’t see it as different from any other magic. It’s a means to an end,” Ny’ari said, more out of a desire to sound equally as controversial than out of any real conviction.

Solas brought up topics, or led Ny’ari to bring them up, which Ny’ari had never been asked to think about before. The personhood of spirits, the grey morality of blood magic, it was all beyond what had been the scope of her life before. She was never expected to think beyond finding better ways to feed the clan; in fact, she had been actively discouraged from it on more than one occasion. That Solas never let her being a crude Dalish hunter get in the way of discussing such topics was part of what she admired in him, even when she was frustrated by his problematic ideas about elven culture.

“Indeed,” Solas said. “The problem is that, under the Chantry, blood magic is forbidden, so only criminals practice it. While in Tevinter, magisters compete with each other instead of keeping their volatile friends in check. They always succeed through power, so they have never had the chance to learn another way.”

Ny’ari was about to ramble on about how she agreed, even though she hadn’t decided if she did or not, when her stomach growled loudly and she turned quite red instead. Was this going to happen every time she talked to Solas? Did being in the elf’s presence somehow speed up her digestion? She hoped that he didn’t think she was doing it on purpose in hopes of getting him to join her for dinner because, honestly, the thought had only just come to her.

“I should go get some dinner,” she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Yes, I do believe you should,” Solas said with a smile that reminded Ny’ari too much of a hahren watching an unintentionally amusing child.

With that unpleasant image in her mind, Ny’ari left Solas’s house and made her way to the Singing Maiden.

Suran was there with Varric and Ny’ari initially intended upon sitting with them, but when she turned away from the bar, food in hand, she changed her mind. There was an empty seat with them, certainly, but Ny’ari had had enough unpleasantness about elves for one day and she didn’t want to give her brother a chance to create more, whether he was likely to or not.

That was when she spied the commander sitting alone. Perfect. Cullen was about as human as they came, but not in an unpleasant way.

Ny’ari approached him. “May I join you, Commander?” she asked.

Cullen looked up, surprised, and took a moment to swallow his food. “Ah, yes, of course,” he said.

Ny’ari smiled at him as she took her seat but tried to keep it subdued considering how he’d reacted last time. She wondered if Suran had seen her and, if so, what her brother thought of her choosing to eat with a human templar—former templar—over him.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Ny’ari decided that she had better say something or risk being taken for the sort of person who avoids her brother by sitting with someone—anyone—else.

“I should get to know you better,” she said. “We are working together after all.”

“What would you like to know?” Cullen asked.

“All right…” Ny’ari thought for a moment. “Where are you from?”

“I grew up in Ferelden, near Honnleath,” Cullen answered. “I was transferred to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight. This is the first time I’ve returned in almost ten years.”

Ny’ari tried to imagine being separated from her people for ten years, but she failed. “You haven’t seen Ferelden in ten years,” she breathed. “Are you glad to be back?”

“I was not sorry to leave at the time. I did not expect to return” Cullen said. He sighed. “Now—between the Divine’s murder and the Breach—I’ve arrived to find nothing but chaos.”

Ny’ari didn’t want to think about the present state of Ferelden at the moment, not when it was most likely up to her to set things right. She caster her attention further back. “You were in Ferelden during the Blight. Did you fight darkspawn?”

“No,” Cullen said, robbing the conversation of heroic battle stories from the Blight. “I was stationed at Ferelden’s Circle Tower. The Circle had troubles of its own. I…remained there during the Blight.”

That smacked of an interesting story. “What happened at the Circle Tower?” Ny’ari asked.

“Few who survived the Blight have fond memories of that time,” Cullen said. “I would prefer not to speak of it.”

Ny’ari leaned back and disengaged herself from that line of conversation. “What was Kirkwall like?” she asked, hoping it would be a less sensitive subject for a non-native than it was for Varric.

“While I was there, Qunari occupied and then attacked the city, the viscount’s murder caused political unrest, relations between mages and templars fell apart, an apostate blew up the Chantry, and the Knight-Commander went mad,” Cullen said. “Other than that, it was fine.”

Ny’ari blinked at the Commander, trying to decide if the last sentence was a joke or not. Eventually, she sidestepped the issue with a new question. “What happened between Kirkwall’s mages and templars?”

“You were at the Conclave,” Cullen remarked. “You must have heard people speak of it.”

“Yes,” Ny’ari agreed, “but you were _there_.”

“There was tension between the mages and templars long before I arrived,” Cullen explained. “Eventually, it reached a breaking point. There was fighting in the streets. Abominations began killing both sides. It was a nightmare.”

“What happened then?” Ny’ari asked.

“The templars should have restored order, but red lyrium had driven Knight-Commander Meredith mad. She threatened to kill Kirkwall’s Champion, turned on her own men. I’m not sure how far she would have gone. Too far.”

“So you opposed her?” Ny’ari asked, leaning forward.

“I stood with the Champion of Kirkwall against her,” Cullen said. “In the end. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner.”

“Varric’s from Kirkwall,” Ny’ari observed to change the subject before it got any heavier. “Did you two know each other?”

“I knew he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, but little else,” Cullen said. “We’ve spoken more since I joined the Inquisition. Largely at Varric’s insistence. Apparently, I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face and it’s bad for my health.”

Ny’ari laughed then and loudly, startling Cullen. He searched her face, clearly trying to discover the cause of her outburst.

“Well,” she said at last, “I don’t know about your health, but you certainly would look better if you smiled more.”

She grinned cheekily and Cullen realized that not only had he long since finished eating, but he also had very pressing work that had to be attended to that very moment. He made his excuses and retreated so quickly that he almost tripped over himself on his way out.


	15. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: On the Eve of Departure

Ny’ari spent the next week passively avoiding Solas. Passively in that she told herself that she would not run away if he sought her out but that she would not go looking for him. In the end, the result was the same because Solas kept himself so well apart from the rest of the Haven population.

Instead, Ny’ari found herself spending more time outside Haven’s inner wall and therefore running into Cullen as he oversaw the training regimen for the new recruits more often.

“I preferred Solas,” Suran remarked of this apparent change of favorites one grumpy evening.

Ny’ari chafed both at Suran’s assumption that she had anything other than friendly intentions toward either of these men and the idea that Suran got a say in it if she did.

When Cassandra brought word that the Inquisition’s scouts had cleared a path to Mother Giselle and that they would be leaving the next morning at dawn, Ny’ari decided to spite her brother by seeking Cullen out for one last chat before leaving.

“I understand that you will be leaving for the Hinterlands tomorrow,” Cullen said when she found him by the training grounds.

“Yes,” Ny’ari said. “At least, that is what Cassandra told me.

“I pray Mother Giselle can help us,” he said.

“So do I,” Ny’ari agreed, and she caught Cullen’s look of mild surprise, like he hadn’t expected her to pray or at least admit to doing it. A short silence passed between them before Ny’ari spoke again. “You know, I would like to know more about the templars.”

“If you need insight into what the Order is doing now, I’m afraid I can’t offer more than you already know,” Cullen said. “Anything else, I will answer as best I can.”

Ny’ari didn’t know much of anything about templars or what it meant to be one except to hunt down mages and put them in Circles against their will. She couldn’t understand why a man who seemed as kind and generally good-natured as Cullen would want to be a part of that. “Why did you join the Order?”

“I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need,” Cullen answered. “I used to beg the templars at our local chantry to teach me. At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise. Or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home.”

At thirteen, Ny’ari hadn’t been allowed out of the camp without an adult. As an apprentice hunter, she had followed her uncle and cousins around all day like a duckling. She couldn’t imagine leaving the clan to live with strangers.

“Thirteen,” she said. “That is still so young.”

“I wasn’t the youngest there,” Cullen replied. “Some children are promised to the Order at infancy. Still, I didn’t take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first.”

“What about your family—did you miss them?” Ny’ari asked. She missed the clan, even if she’d not gotten along with half of them, more than half maybe. If it weren’t for Suran, life in Haven would have been nearly unbearable. And that was as an adult; as a child…

“Of course,” Cullen said. “But there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another.”

“Do templars do anything besides hunt mages?” Ny’ari asked.

“Templars protect against the dangers of magic,” Cullen said. “Before the Order left the Chantry, that meant serving in a Circle. They were also tasked with tracking apostates or fighting demons inevitably summoned by the weak or malicious.”

“What do _you_ think of mages?” Ny’ari asked. “Are they all a threat?”

“I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict,” Cullen said. “I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it—at times without cause. That was unworthy of me. I’ll try not to do so here. Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked. We need safeguards in place to protect people—including mages—from possession, at the least.”

Ny’ari was impressed. That was a far more even-keeled and self-aware answer than she had expected from him. It wasn’t the sort of answer that would make Suran like him, but Ny’ari felt better knowing that the commander of the Inquisition’s forces was trying to see both sides of the issue.

“You have lived in the Circle,” Ny’ari remarked as the thought came to her. “What was a typical day for a templar there?”

“‘Typical,’” Cullen laughed. “The last time I was in a Circle was right before it fell apart. Nothing was typical.”

“Before that, then,” Ny’ari said.

“Certain rituals require a full guard,” Cullen said. “A mage’s Harrowing, for instance. I’ve attended a few. Most of the time, you merely maintain a presence—on patrol or in the Circle. Ready to respond if needed. Mages pretend to ignore that presence, but they’re watching you just as closely.”

That sounded like a lot of watching and not a lot of interacting for people stuck living together to Ny’ari. “Do templars and mages never speak to each other?” she asked.

“Some do,” Cullen said. “But templars are supposed to maintain a certain distance from their charges. If a mage is possessed or used blood magic, you must act quickly, without hesitation. Your judgment cannot be clouded. Of course, ignoring one another does nothing to foster understanding.”

Ny’ari nodded and fell into silence. This was all very interesting, but Ny’ari also had some more immediately practical concerns—what if she was forced to fight templars? The idea terrified her; how was she, a hunter who was trained only to kill and prepare animals to eat supposed to fight soldiers trained from childhood?

“What does templar training involve?” she asked, hoping that she was not betraying her trepidation.

“There is weapon and combat training,” Cullen said. “Even without their abilities, templars are among the best warriors in Thedas. Initiates must also memorize portions of the Chant of Light, study history, and improve their mental focus.”

All Ny’ari heard was that she might be going up against a bunch of genius warriors who could nullify magic if she couldn’t find a way to ally with them. She didn’t want to think about that any more than necessary.

“Did you enjoy your training?” she asked to lighten her own thoughts.

“I wanted to learn everything,” Cullen said. “If I was giving my life to this, I would be the best templar I could.”

Ny’ari smiled at the commander’s enthusiasm. For a man as dangerous as he purported to be—and Ny’ari had no reason to doubt him—Cullen certainly exuded an excess of innocence at times. But that was part of why she liked him.

“You were a model student,” she said.

“I wanted to be,” Cullen replied. “I wasn’t always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfigurations wasn’t the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered.”

That sounded rather more religious than Ny’ari had anticipated for a group of warriors. She knew that the templars had been somehow connected to the Chantry, but…well, she didn’t know what she had been expecting. The Chantry was worlds away from what she had grown up with.

“Do templars take vows?” she asked. “‘I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages’—that sort of thing?”

“There’s a vigil first,” Cullen explained. “You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter—your first draught of lyrium—and its power. As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.”

“A life of service and sacrifice,” Ny’ari repeated. There was a question buzzing in her head. It was a little inappropriate, but it would bother her if she didn’t ask and, anyway, she had a reputation to maintain as a barbaric Dalish heathen. “Are templars also expected to give up…physical temptations?”

Cullen’s flustered reaction was almost worth more than hearing the answer. “Physical?” he choked. “Why… Why would you…?” At last, he regained his composure. “That’s not expected. Templars can marry—although there are rules about it, and the Order must grant permission… Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s, um, not required.”

“Have you?” Ny’ari asked before she had a chance to stop herself. She could only flush deep red as Cullen struggled to form a reply.

“Me?” he squeaked. “I…um…no. I’ve taken no such vows. Maker’s breath—can we speak of something else?”

“Of course,” Ny’ari was quick to answer. “That was inappropriate of me to ask. I apologize. I, um, I should be packing anyway. It was nice talking to you.”

Ny’ari turned a little too quickly and fled back into Haven’s inner walls. She liked to tease Cullen, but she knew that was taking it too far.

“Hey, Moonflower, where do you think you’re going?” Varric’s voice cut through Ny’ari’s mild panic.

“What?” she asked, stopping.

“You almost ran into that wall,” Varric said.

Ny’ari blinked and looked around to see that she had been about to miss the staircase going up toward the chantry by several hands widths. She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Just looking for a snowbank to throw myself in until spring.”

Varric laughed. “Try behind the chantry. They’ll never look for you there.”

Ny’ari reoriented herself and started up the stairs. About halfway up, she stopped and turned around. “Hey, Varric?”

“Need something?” the dwarf asked.

Ny’ari nodded and traced her path back down the stairs to the fire pit that was Varric’s daytime haunt. “The red lyrium we found at the temple seemed to upset you,” she said.

“My brother Bartrand and I sort of discovered red lyrium during an expedition in the Deep Roads,” Varric explained. “We located an ancient thaig, so old it barely looked dwarven. There was this idol there, made of it. Bartrand brought it back to the surface and, well, everything’s gone downhill from there.”

Ny’ari frowned. “So…what is it?” she asked. “Just another kind of lyrium?”

“The red stuff is lyrium like a dragon is a lizard,” Varric said. “It’s not just a different color. It has a whole host of weirdness all its own. I’ve written to every Mining Caste house in Orzammar. No one’s seen this stuff before or knows where it came from.”

“What makes it special?” Ny’ari asked.

“Regular lyrium can mess you up pretty badly, but you have to ingest it for that to happen,” Varric said. “Red lyrium messes with your head when you’re just near the stuff. You hear singing, get violent, paranoid. And then it does…” He paused for emphasis, “creepy shit. Makes things float. Brings statues to life. It also turned Kirkwall’s knight-commander to lyrium. Everyone’s been kept at least a hundred paces from it since.”

“How did the red lyrium get in the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” Ny’ari wondered. It was bad enough that some evil monster creature had been doing something nefarious to the Divine there without the red lyrium involved.

“I don’t know,” Varric said. “So as far as I knew, the only piece to make it to the surface was destroyed. And the location of the thaig it came from is a secret. Did someone find more of it in the Deep Roads? That’s not a cheery thought.”

Ny’ari shivered. “I think that’s enough on red lyrium,” she said.

“Yeah, not really my favorite subject,” Varric agreed.

“Thanks for the information,” she said.

“Any time, Moonflower.”

Ny’ari went back up the stairs but realized she didn’t know why she went there. She caught Threnn eyeing her suspiciously as she loitered, trying to remember her purpose. She stopped and stared back until Threnn looked away.

So an elf always had light fingers, even when you think they’re the Herald of Andraste? Ny’ari thought bitterly. But really, she’d gotten a lot less of that attitude in Haven than she’d ever gotten anywhere else. Threnn and Sigurd were the worst offenders, while she was fairly certain that Flissa was more or less innocently offensive.

Ny’ari sighed. It was miserably hard to live among humans, to catch them looking and remember that they don’t trust you simply because of your ears. Ny’ari wasn’t even a mage. That was hardly better, but at least mages had a recent history of violence to explain some of the public’s paranoia.

Ny’ari was tempted to just pack up her things and run away—fuck the humans—if only the fates of everyone else in the world weren’t also at risk. Fuck Andraste, fuck the Chantry, and fuck whoever made the temple explode doubly hard. Ny’ari was going home the minute the Breach was closed—Thanks, Cassandra. It’s been fun. Don’t keep in touch.

Ny’ari took the roundabout path to the house she shared with her brother. Suran was conscientiously packing their things for the trip to the Hinterlands when Ny’ari burst in and flopped down on her bed.

“Sulrahn del’re?” he asked, continuing his work without flinching or turning to look at his sister. _Something wrong?_

“Ny’tath’harth o’lethal?” Ny’ari asked. _Have you heard from the clan yet?_

“Ys sasha dea noa’dhea'him,” Suran reminded her. _It’s only been a week._

“Vin,” Ny’ari said. _Right._ She was quiet for a moment. “Nuvenas vhen’an’vira?” she asked. _Do you want to go home?_

“Ma?” Suran asked back. _Do you?_

Ny’ari sat up, angry. “Sasha ahn’dirthas delavir’av’ahn.” _Just answer the stupid question._

“Ane esayal o’em rea?” Suran asked. _Are you trying to get rid of me?_

“Te!” _No!_

“O’vin,” Suran said. “Ma?” _Then, yes. What about you?_

“Gaelasha,” Ny’ari said. She sighed. “Telir’re eman telam’sildearasha.” _Absolutely. It’s just that I have a bad feeling._

Suran’s hands fell still. “Ahn?” he asked after a moment of silence. _What?_

“Teis’juelan vhen’an’vira,” Ny’ari said. _That I won’t ever get to go home._

“Silas judinas Breach’paral?” Suran asked. _Do you think you will die closing the Breach?_

“Te’eolasan,” she said. “Sasha sildearasha.” _I don’t know. It’s just a feeling._

“Sasha te’tuas sastrahn delavir,” Suran said. _Just don’t do anything stupid._

“Te’jutuan,” Ny’ari said. “Y ny amal sahl sila o’asahn ele harillal? Tamahn Breach, asahn nadasha tiralas’judal y sultan vis te’ra’parir. I ariir inor ta o’tethis dunala in Thedas, ehn vya galin’dala’el o’esaya tiralas’shala. I tamahn ghest o’brithathe fra’temple. Eolasan te’isalir esh’ghi’mya, y unesay em’dala, tamahnsul re arulin. Oh, i Varric telir em’undirth red lyrium unvenir elvar’nasis’rahn in tiralas.” _I won’t. But have you taken a moment to think about what we’re up against? There’s the Breach, which will eventually devour the world or something if we don’t close it. And we’re stuck between two of the most dangerous groups in Thedas, who would rather murder each other than try to save the world. Then, there’s the monster from the vision at the temple. I suppose we don’t have to go after him, but he tried to kill me, so it’s personal. Oh, and Varric just told me that the red lyrium we found is just about the most cursed stuff in the world._

Suran got up and sat on the bed, next to his sister. “Ny eal ariem amahn i banal tua tas’var,” he said. “Mar sil him tune melahn te’emas sastrahn tua.” He hit Ny’ari lightly on the back of the head. “ _Ma_ rahnen’tuas, _ar_ tesilan. Ra shenamahn run. Eolasas assan’vianvallas.” _You have been stuck here with nothing to do for too long. Your mind goes to mush when you don’t have anything to do._ You _do things,_ I _worry. That’s the natural order. Get it right._

Ny’ari forced a little laugh at that and stood up. “Tamahnsul silan ryan dara sulrahn’tua i’ve telsilan su’salhasis,” she said. _Then I guess I’d better go do something before I worry myself mad._

She left the house but didn’t feel much like doing anything except maybe howling at the moon, but she had to wait for moonrise for that. She headed toward the apothecary, thinking that maybe some restorative potions would be handy in case the mark started acting up while they were away.

As Ny’ari passed Solas’s house, she stopped. She hadn’t talked to him since their uncomfortable conversation about elves. She didn’t want to think about it or about her conflicted feelings. She wanted to talk to him again and remind herself why she had enjoyed his company before, but a part of her warned that she would only invite unhappiness if she tried to get close to him. It was better to maintain a cool distance and avoid finding out exactly how irreconcilable their opinions on elves really were.

After loitering restlessly in front of Solas’s house for several minutes, Ny’ari went to see Adan for those potions she’d wanted. In her mind, she weighed the two sides of the debate about seeing Solas while she watched the apothecary measure the ingredients for the potions.

One leaf of elf root, I should see him. Two leaves of elf root, I should not. Three leaves, I should. Four leaves, I should not. Five, I should. Six, I should not. Seven…

Ny’ari took the potions and left the apothecary. She had determined to see Solas, but she still didn’t know what her excuse was going to be. The only thing she could think of that was a safe topic, nearly guaranteed to not start a fight, was magic and possible the Fade—so long as the conversation stayed away from Fade memories of the ancient elves.

She looked out over the trees to the Breach and received inspiration. Solas had come to help with the Breach; he knew more about it than possibly anyone. As the Herald of Andraste, she needed to understand the Breach better to fulfill her duty of eventually closing it.

Ny’ari took a deep breath and marched up to the door of Solas’s house. She knocked firmly on the doo. She held her breath in the few moments it took for him to come to the door.

Solas paused upon opening the door before speaking. “Good afternoon, Herald,” he said. “May I help you with something?”

“Yes,” Ny’ari said. “There were some…I had some questions that I was hoping you could answers.” She hated that she faltered and fidgeted under his gaze now. It made her wish she’d never asked about elves in the first place.

If Solas also felt awkward thanks to that conversation, he hid it well. Ny’ari could detect no discomfort in his mild expression.

“Certainly,” he said. “Come in.” He stepped back to admit Ny’ari into the house.

Ny’ari looked around. The house was the same as it had ever been; sparsely furnished, sparsely decorated. Ny’ari didn’t know why she had expected that same sort of grudging settling in that she and Suran had done, but it wasn’t there. What was there was a pile of neatly folded clothes and his pack on the bed.

He was…coming with to the Hinterlands? Cassandra hadn’t said anything. But it made sense, didn’t it? The Fade expect had to come along in case anyone…had…questions? Actually, no. It didn’t make a whole heap of sense to Ny’ari. Solas would probably be of more use working in Haven with Minaeve or something. But she could understand why he might feel safer joining the expedition to the Hinterlands. What might happen to him, left alone in Haven, while his protectors were in the field? He must have spun some story to exaggerate his worth on the mission to Cassandra.

But that meant that they had the whole trip to the Hinterlands for Ny’ari to ask her Fade questions. Now she felt stupid, but she was already in the house and it would be very strange for her to leave now.

Ny’ari took her usual seat beside the first while Solas cleared a space for himself on the bed. He sat down and looked at her expectantly. Right, it was her turn to talk.

“Well, um…actually…what do you know about the Fade?” Ny’ari grimaced at the simplicity of her question. This was not how she’d imagined the conversation going.

“A great deal, from my wanderings,” Solas answered. Ny’ari couldn’t tell if he was bemused or simply patient. “There are few hard facts, but I can share what I have learned.”

That was a good start, wasn’t it? Now Ny’ari just had to focus on asking useful questions. “I would like to know more about the Breach.”

“Simply put, it is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade, allowing spirits to enter the world physically,” Solas said. “Small tears occur naturally when magic weakens the Veil or when spirits cluster at an area that has seen many deaths. But your mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach. That means it was created deliberately.”

Ny’ari looked down at the mark. It was quiet now, dim and barely visible. She nodded. The Breach was an easy enough concept to grasp, but it was tied to much murkier things. “Please, tell me more about the Veil.”

“Circle mages call it a barrier between this world and the Fade. But according to my studies in ancient elven lore, that is a vast oversimplification. Without it…” Solas paused, struggling for the right words. “Imagine if spirits entered freely, if the Fade was not a place one went, but a state of nature like the wind.”

Ny’ari couldn’t imagine something so alien; she had never touched the Fade except in dreams half-remembered, so she could not fathom what it would mean for it to exist in the waking world. What Ny’ari did know what that all the wonders and secrets currently limited to mages, all the things she wanted to know, but couldn’t by accident of birth, would be open to her, to everyone, in that sort of world. “It sounds like it would be wonderful,” she said.

“And dangerous,” Solas said, “but…yes. A world where imagination defines reality, where spirits are as common as trees or grass. Instead, spirits are strange and fearful, and the Fade is a terrifying world touched only by mages and dreamers. I am glad that I am not alone in seeing the beauty of such a world, along with the obvious peril.”

It took Ny’ari a moment to realize what Solas meant by ‘peril.’

“Demons,” she said. If they were swamped with demons just because of a hole in the Veil, what would it be like without the Veil? “I want to know more about demons.”

“The Chantry says that demons hate the natural world and seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living,” Solas said. “But such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations and, in so doing, do all s great disservice. Spirits wish to join the living and a demon is that wish gone wrong.”

“Is there a way to coexist?” Ny’ari asked, thinking of the seemingly endless rain of demons that had spewed from the active Breach. “To live with them, if not in peace, at least without such active confrontation?”

“Not in the world we know today,” Solas answered. “The Veil creates a barrier that makes true understanding most unlikely. But the question is a good one, and it matters that you thought to ask.”

“I suppose,” Ny’ari said, feeling a little heavy with how bleak the world seemed from Solas’s descriptions of what it could be. “In any case, you have given me a lot to think about. I should let you get back to packing.”

Ny’ari stood and showed herself out of Solas’s house with dignity for the first time.


	16. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: Mother G

Whatever dignity Ny’ari had had when she left Solas the night before, it had faded under a saddle-sore weariness by the next evening. She did her best to conceal it, but the only thing that was able to cheer her up was seeing her brother hobble about like the clan’s oldest hahren as they made camp.

“What’s wrong, Blue?” Varric was eventually curious enough to ask. “I thought you Dalish were all about traveling.”

Ny’ari just snorted and kept setting up her tent while Suran sighed.

“On foot,” he said. “It is rare for our people to ride and…even then, halla are not like horses.”

“Hm, I never noticed that with Daisy,” Varric said and went back to what he was doing.

Ny’ari’s hands fell still. 

“Te,” Suran said, catching sight of her face. _No._

Ny’ari groaned and she returned to setting up. Soon, her hands fell still again. 

“Te,” Suran said again. _No._

But Ny’ari ignored him. “Hey, Varric,” she called, “who is this Daisy?” She wandered over toward him, leaving Suran to finish setting up alone.

That set the tone for the next three days of travel. Ny’ari didn’t shirk her duties, per se, but she did jump on every opportunity to distract herself. Over the next three days, she was chatty with everyone, up to and including Cassandra, while they were on the move. She was flighty and ill-focused when they stopped to make camp. No one could pin her down on what it was that was bothering her.

By mid-afternoon on the fourth day, they reached the scouts’ main camp in the Hinterlands. They were greeted by a forward guard, who directed them up to the camp. Their horses were taken and tended to. As the group made their way further into camp, a young dwarf woman with light red hair and an abundance of freckles approached them.

“The Herald of Andraste!” she greeted Ny’ari enthusiastically. “I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. It’s odd for a Dalish elf to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no backtalk here. That’s a promise. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I—all of us here—we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?” Varric asked, grinning.

“I can’t say I have. Why?” Scout Harding replied.

“You’d be Harding in…oh, never mind,” Varric sighed as his humor fell flat.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and shook her head while Solas and Suran looked pointedly preoccupied with anything else.

Ny’ari paused out of respect for the death of Varric’s joke, then addressed the scout again. “I am starting to worry about these ‘stories’ that everyone has heard,” she said. It was almost never good when stories were spread about Dalish elves.

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about,” Scout Harding assured her. “They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

“Oh,” Ny’ari said, going a little pale. “Wonderful.”

“The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start fixing things,” Harding said. “We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive. Mother Giselle’s at the crossroads, helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there, too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long. You best get going. No time to lose.”

With her report over, Scout Harding took her leave to return to her regular duties. 

Cassandra immediately started double checking her weapons and armor. The rest of the group followed her lead.

“Do you really think we will have to fight?” Ny’ari asked, somewhat timidly.

Cassandra looked Ny’ari in the eye and answered in her brusque sort of way, “Yes, I think we will have to fight.”

Ny’ari let out a sharp breath and nodded. 

As soon as everyone had finished preparing, they started down the hill in the direction that was pointed out as leading to the crossroads. Their surroundings were full of lush foliage and small animals. But for her company and battle-worthy gear, Ny’ari would have felt quite at home wandering these lands.

“Mother Giselle should be somewhere nearby,” she remarked as they approached the valley.

Soon, however, the sounds of a battle became clear. Around a large boulder, they found an Inquisition scout readying his bow. He ran around the corner toward the fighting.

“Inquistion forces!” Cassandra cried. “They’re trying to protect the refugees!”

“Looks like they could use a hand!” Varric added.

The Seeker had already drawn her weapon, so Ny’ari followed suit. She had tested out her new blades in the forest around Haven before leaving. She had found them perfectly adequate for her use, but now they felt strange and unwieldy. She glanced over at Suran and saw that he was pale, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Scouts were fighting warriors. Templars. Ny’ari felt cold under all her layers of leather.

“Hold! We are not apostates!” Cassandra called to them, but her words had no effect.

“I do not think they care, Seeker!” Solas remarked.

Cassandra dove into the battle and, after a second of hesitation that was masked by adjusting her grip on her weapons, Ny’ari followed. Almost immediately, she found herself face to face with a templar carrying a shield. He moved slowly and she easily dodged his attacks. She got behind him and found a gap in his armor and sank her blade in. It was so easy, so much easier than it should have been. Ny’ari almost dropped her weapon in horror of what she’d done, but she was reminded that this templar was far from the last when an arrow narrowly missed her head. 

Ny’ari pulled her blade out of the corpse of the man she’d killed and looked for the next, nearest threat. “Esh’ala y em,” she whispered to herself. _Them or me._

No sooner had the last templar been downed than a group of mages began attacking. 

“We are not templars!” Solas called to them. “We mean you no harm!”

“It doesn’t look like they’re listening!” Varric pointed out.

The mages were a far more intimidating foe than the templars now that she was actually facing them. It was difficult enough to evade the friendly fire from Suran and Solas without contending with fireballs aimed in her direction. And their eyes—unlike templars, the mages did not wear helmets that covered most of their faces, and every time Ny’ari accidentally made eye contact, she was reminded that these were actually people and she was trying to kill them.

Just when Ny’ari thought they must be done, she heard Solas yell and saw a second group of templars approach. She adjusted her grip on her blades, now slick with blood, and followed Cassandra back into the melee. The fighting got no easier, but the twinge she felt at landing the fatal blow had lessened by the time the last templar fell and Cassandra looked at her with a sigh, saying, “It’s done.”

Ny’ari nearly dropped her weapons in relief. Her hands trembled as she wiped down her blades and sheathed them. Suran, who had managed to stay out of the fighting, slinging magic from afar, stuck close to her side now. He kept asking if she was hurt. She wasn’t. Under all the blood and the bruises that would surely come, she had been remarkably lucky.

Scouts came to clear away the bodies while their leaders greeted the party from Haven. They saluted Ny’ari and she mirrored the action back at them, uncertain of the proper response. Cassandra did most of the talking, but Ny’ari understood from the tones and glances of the scouts that, when it came time to meet Mother Giselle, she would be doing it alone.

The scouts pointed out a makeshift hospital that had been set up on a raised bit of land around one of the houses in the crossroads. That was where she would find Mother Giselle. She started forward and Suran tried to follow her. She turned him away.

“I will be right back,” she told him with a glance to Cassandra for help in case he refused to stay put. If the Revered Mother wanted to see her alone, then she would go alone. After all, what danger did a single religious woman pose in the middle of a hospital to a woman who had just survived a battle with both mages and templars?

Ny’ari crossed the road and climbed the stairs to the hospital. She found Mother Giselle kneeling by the bed of a wounded scout and she waited to let the Revered Mother conclude her business with him.

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” she told him. “Lie still.”

“Don’t…let them touch me, Mother,” the scout gasped back. “Their magic is…”

“Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade,” she answered.

“But…” The scout hesitated.

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.” The Revered Mother helped the scout to lay back down and he did so calmly, resigned at the very least to the help of the mages. She stood.

“Mother Giselle?” Ny’ari asked.

“I am,” she answered, approaching. “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“Is that why you asked for me?” Ny’ari asked. “The Chantry has already—”

“I know what they’ve done,” Mother Giselle said, cutting her off abruptly.

“Then why am I here?” Ny’ari demanded.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it,” Mother Giselle said. “I won’t lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us…”

“And that is an excuse?” Ny’ari snapped. “They are making things worse.”

“They don’t know that,” Mother Giselle replied. “This is my point. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

Ny’ari paused a moment to swallow her disbelief. “They want to execute me, and you think I should just walk up to them?”

“You are no longer alone. They cannot imprison or attack you.”

“They could try.”

“Let me put it this way,” Mother Giselle said. “You needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to _doubt_. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need.”

“So, I show up, say hello, show them the mark on my hand…?” Ny’ari pressed her lips together and waited for Mother Giselle to give her a detailed explanation of how, exactly, she was supposed to convince these hostile Chantry people not to kill her. She did not get one.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope,” Mother Giselle said instead. “Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us…or destroy us. I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

She walked away then, leaving Ny’ari to sigh and press her palms against her vallaslin, praying for good judgment. She waited until her head was clearer to go back down to where Cassandra and the others waited.

“I think you should send her back to Haven with some scouts to talk to Leliana and the others,” she told the Seeker.

“You think she can help us,” Cassandra said.

“I have no fucking clue,” Ny’ari said. “She is as lost as the rest of us, I think, but she has a new idea and it is better than us bashing our against the old ones until our brains leak out our ears.”

“That was a…vivid description,” Cassandra said. “Very well, I will arrange to have some scouts take Mother Giselle back to Haven.”

“While we stay here and do good works,” Ny’ari said.

“We need to go find Master Dennet,” Cassandra said.

“Right…but after that, I really suggest we stick around and do good works,” Ny’ari said. “If Mother Giselle’s plan does not work, we will need people to support us against the Chantry’s wishes and, well, I just thought of what Lady Josephine said to that noble ass who claims he owns Haven—the Inquisition is helping the pilgrims and the Chantry is not. We need to keep doing that. The better we look in comparison to the Chantry, the less we will need them. Maybe the people we want for allies will seek _us_ out instead.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Cassandra said. “But you have a point. We must help where we can. Corporal Vale is coordinating the Inquisition’s efforts in the area. We should speak with him.”


	17. Ny'ari, The Threat Remains: Into the Hinterlands

Cassandra led the small group up a hill to an area where Inquisition troops ran through training drills and a young man oversaw them not unlike how Cullen oversaw the troops in Haven. He saw them approaching and turned to greet them.

“You’re with the Inquisition?” he said. “Corporal Vale. Thanks for your help. The mages and templars don’t seem to care who gets caught in their war. The refugees here are in dire need of help. If the war doesn’t kill them, cold or starvation will.”

He was addressing the group as a whole, but his eyes were fixed on Ny’ari. Of course, they were. She was the Herald of Andraste, after all.

Ny’ari pointedly looked away, casting her gaze over what she could see of the local settlement from the hill. What chance did these people have, with the war happening quite literally on their doorsteps? 

“What can you tell me about the templars?” she asked, turning back toward Corporal Vale.

“All the templars were called to Val Royeaux not long ago. These bastards ignored the order,” Vale said, contempt thick in his voice. “Now they’re killing rebel mages, along with any refugees they think are mage sympathizers. Every templar I’ve ever known has wanted to protect the common folk. These men defile their Order’s good name.”

Ny’ari glanced over at Cassandra and their eyes met. Whatever the truth about the proper Templar Order, this group was clearly rotten. Something had to be done about that. As much as Ny’ari disliked the idea of more killing, she couldn’t think of any better solution and she could see in the sharpness of Cassandra’s gaze that the Seeker had come to the same conclusion.

“And what can you tell me about the rebel mages?” she continued, recalling how viciously the mages had just attacked them.

“The real rebels are up north in Redcliffe, dug in and taking care of their own,” Vale replied. “The ones out here are just apostates. Locked up in the Circles all these years, and now they’ve gone mad with power. The rebels in Redcliffe have washed their hands of them. I wish we could do the same.”

Ny’ari caught the way Suran flinched at the term Corporal Vale used for the mages. It wasn’t fair that her brother got lumped in with the crazy, violent mages they had fought just because he had never lived in a Circle. She directed the conversation away from magic.

“You were concerned about refugees starving.”

“Yes,” Corporal Vale replied. “Many of them brought food, but they expected to be home by now or safe in a city. There’s a hunter up the hill who had some ideas.”

Ny’ari considered that a moment. “And is there anything we can do to help people deal with the cold?”

Vale shook his head. “I asked the Inquisition to send blankets,” he said. “You’d think I was asking for a wagon of raw lyrium. A recruit named Wittle is trying to make what we can bring in last. If you have any ideas, talk to him across the road.”

“What other problems do these refugees face?” Suran asked. Everyone looked at him for a moment in surprised silence.

“We’ve got some injuries that go beyond stitches and elfroot,” Corporal Vale answered after a moment. “I know healers are in short supply, but if you can find someone in Redcliffe to help us, it would save a lot of lives.”

Cassandra cleared her throat and gave Ny’ari a meaningful look. Ny’ari hesitated. Herald or not, she didn’t see why she was being forced to take charge. Still, she gave in.

“What can you tell me about the man who is supposed to be getting horses for the Inquisition?” she asked.

“Horsemaster Dennet? He lives on a farm to the west. Tough old fellow,” Corporal Vale said. “We haven’t heard from him. Best we can tell, he’s holed up until the mages and templars are done killing each other.”

“I guess it is up to us to pay him a visit, then,” Ny’ari said. “Thank you for all of the information, Corporal. I am sure we will find you again if we need anything else.”

She paused and then made a clumsy attempt at the Fereldan salute she’d seen many of the Inquisition soldiers using. Corporal Vale saluted back and Ny’ari led her little group back down to the crossroads.

“What should we do now?” she asked Cassandra in an attempt to direct the weight of leadership back where it belonged.

“We should go back to our camp and decide what our next move is,” Cassandra said.

“Right,” Ny’ari said, trying to sound like she hadn’t already thought of that.

They left the crossroads and climbed the hill to the camp where they had met Scout Harding. The camp was mostly empty now, the scouts busy with their various tasks. Cassandra removed the map from her pack and spread it out over a table while Ny’ari collected a handful of rocks with flat sides. Cassandra watched Ny’ari curiously while the others went about the process of settling into camp. Eventually, Cassandra’s curiosity gave way to impatience.

“Are you quite ready?” she asked.

“Ah, yes,” Ny’ari said, rolling the stones between her fingers. “Just about.” She opened a small pouch and dumped the rocks into it, then she approached the table where Cassandra had laid out the map. “Where are we?”

“We’re here,” Cassandra said, pointing to a spot on the central-eastern side of the map.

Ny’ari took a stone from her pouch and placed it carefully on the spot Cassandra had indicated.

“We have markers for the map if you want them,” Cassandra said, staring at the stone as if it would give up deep secrets by the force of her gaze.

“I am sure you do,” Ny’ari replied, “but these are lucky.”

“Lucky?” Cassandra asked, staring even harder at the stone.

“Yes,” Ny’ari said, just a shade defensively. “It is a Dalish thing; you would not understand.”

Cassandra did not ask again.

“Now,” Ny’ari said after a brief, but awkward pause, “we are looking for Dennet and he should be…” She waved her finger over the western half of the map.

“I believe we will have the most luck if we start our search here,” Cassandra said. She placed her finger on a settlement labeled Redcliffe Farms.

Ny’ari put down a stone. “And Corporal Vale said to look for a healer in Redcliffe Village.” She put a stone down on the village of Redcliffe. “And we need to speak with Recruit Wittle at the crossroads about supplies.” She put down another stone.

“If we have any ideas,” Cassandra said.

Ny’ari picked the stone back up. “Right.”

“Oh, Moonflower,” Varric said, stopping as he walked by. “I was talking to one of the scouts and they said there was a big deposit of red lyrium around here. I was wondering if we could take a look and maybe, I don’t know, destroy it or something, try to stop it from spreading.”

“Where is it?” Ny’ari asked.

“They said it was somewhere around here,” Varric said, indicating a spot on the northeast corner of the map.

Ny’ari put down a stone. “It looks like we have a kind of arc set up here,” she said, tracing a line between the three destination stones. “If we start with Redcliffe Farms, we could go up like that and then over to look for that red lyrium. What do you think?” She looked to Cassandra. 

“It could work,” Cassandra said.

“Perfect,” Ny’ari said. “We should head out now.”

“Moonflower…” Varric said.

Ny’ari flinched, recalled herself, and looked to Cassandra for approval.

“She’s right,” Cassandra said. “We can’t afford to waste time. We should try to reach Master Dennet as soon as possible.”

Varric sighed. “Don’t even get a minute to put my feet up,” he grumbled, mostly in a good-natured way.

It didn’t take long for the small group to get packed up and on their way again. It wasn’t easy moving through the mountainous terrain, but Ny’ari thoroughly enjoyed the verdancy of the area after weeks in snow-crusted Haven. Although the group was moving at Cassandra’s forceful pace, she often lingered behind a moment to pick a plant or just look at the scenery for a moment before catching back up.

They reached Redcliffe Farms at nightfall and set up camp just outside the cluster of farms. It was too late, they decided, to go looking for Dennet that night. 

Dinner was warm and abundant but the two Dalish barely touched it. Suran was falling asleep where he sat and Ny’ari got lost in thought for minutes at a time between each bite, staring alternately into the dancing flames and at the darkness beyond the glow of the fire. She came back to herself just in time to stop the plate from falling off her brother’s lap and send him trundling off to his bedroll. 

She sat for a while with both plates still mostly full of food, staring at nothing. Abruptly, she stood, disposed of the uneaten food, and walked off into the darkness away from camp.


	18. Solas, The Threat Remains: The Wolf and the Herald

For several moments after Ny’ari left the circle of light around the fire, it looked like the Seeker would follow her. She was itching to do it, to storm off after her Herald, but her Maker alone knew what she thought she would do next. Bully Lady Lavellan into returning to camp?

Solas saw Varric trying to catch his attention with a strange expression. Or perhaps it was a normal expression for the durgen’len. It was hard for him to decide what to make of Varric aside from a very early recognition that he was far removed from the warriors he was ostensibly descended of. In any case, Solas understood Varric’s intent and responded with an inclination of his head.

Varric replied by jerking his chin in the direction Ny’ari had gone and raising his eyebrows. You’re an elf, he appeared to be saying, go after her before the human does. 

It probably seemed a logical suggestion to Varric, yet it was still unreasonable. It did not follow that, simply because Solas was an elf, he was the best suited to handle whatever was bothering Ny’ari. However, he could not imagine being a worse choice than Cassandra for the task. More importantly, going to her now would give him the opportunity to properly ensure that she was still invested in her commitment to sealing the Breach. He nodded his acceptance of Varric’s suggestion and stood.

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked.

“I am going to check on the Herald,” he replied.

“You are?” Cassandra gave him an incredulous look. “Well, I suppose that is…not a bad idea.” 

Instead of answering, Solas stalked off into the night. 

Once he was far enough from camp, he summoned a handful of veilfire to light his way. With it, he had no difficulty locating Ny’ari sitting on a rise overlooking the river a little distance from camp.

There was just enough moonlight to glitter off the water and cast shadows off the trees that stretched out into the distance, but it was too dark to pick out the narrow lines of Ny’ari’s vallaslin against her pale face. It was a pleasing illusion. 

How many secret moonlit meetings had he held with another beautiful raven-haired elf? Her silver-blue eyes had stopped resting on anything real by then, always looking through, looking past—her mind working on all of their plans, their problems, and her smile weak with all of the sacrifices she had made in the name of their people. “It will not be long now, old friend,” she told him every time they parted, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. Until one day it was abruptly over for her.

But now was not the time to be lost in reminiscing and Ny’ari’s resemblance to Mythal was almost entirely the effect of the moonlight. When he got close enough and she turned in surprise, her face illuminated by the pale green of the veilfire, the effect was erased.

“Solas,” she said.  She rubbed her face and looked away from him again. “What are you doing here?”

“We were all worried when you left camp like that,” he said. “I came to make sure you are well.”

“Oh.” Ny’ari laughed weakly. “I suppose I should have said something or something.” She looked down at her hands, turning something small between her fingers.

“You can tell me if something is wrong,” Solas prompted her gently.

Ny’ari shook her head. “There is nothing anyone can do about it, so there is no point in talking about it.”

Solas sighed quietly, then sat down next to the young elf. “Talking may help more than you imagine.”

Ny’ari turned over whatever was in her fingers a few more times. She held it up in the green light of the veilfire. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

The object was a small piece of bone carved into a detailed wolf. “It is a wolf,” he said after a moment of examining the piece for any clue that it was more than what it appeared to be.

Ny’ari nodded. “My clan’s hahren always told the young hunters stories about the Emerald Knights of the Dales and their wolf companions. She meant to inspire us to protect the clan the way the knights protected the Dales, I think.” She rubbed her thumb over the wolf’s face. “In any case, that is what she did. I do not think you could find a single one of us who would not claim to be ready to die protecting the clan. Thalia, my apprentice, my first apprentice, made this for me for luck. And it works. I have been lucky. I have been so damned lucky. But they have not, have they?”

“Who?” Solas prompted. 

“Oh,” Ny’ari sighed. “Tel’eolasan.” _I don’t know._ “The people who died at the Conclave? The people who died today? The people I killed?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them.

“There was nothing to be done for any of those people,” Solas assured her.

“Was there not?” Ny’ari asked into her knees.

“Certainly not,” Solas said. “The lives lost at the Conclave rest on the conscience of the one who opened the Breach, not you, and you had no choice but to kill the people attacking you today.”

“But I have never not had a choice before,” Ny’ari said. “I have never had to kill a person. I have been attacked and I have had people to protect, but I have never had to kill a person.”

“Have you ever been at war?” Solas asked. The darkest parts of him played at the edges of his thoughts, memories of a time he never wished to revisit. So many lives lost, sacrificed. Some offered willingly in the name of a greater good, others abandoned to that same end. I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you. He pressed those thoughts back. It did no good to dwell on such things right now.

Ny’ari faltered. “I—well, no—I mean…” She took a breath and started over. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We are at war,” Solas said. “Which side we end on is up to the leaders of the Inquisition, but the scouts have been fighting on its behalf since they arrived here and, now, so are we. This is not the same as outwitting a handful of humans who wandered too near your camp. Every enemy left alive on the battlefield is a threat to your allies.”

Ny’ari squeezed the wolf carving in her hand until her knuckles went white.

“I know,” Solas continued more gently. “Every life you take is a tragedy, but you have to remember how many more lives would be lost if you did not fight.”

“It is just too much.” Ny’ari sighed and leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder. Then she froze. Solas could feel her muscles tense. She jumped up abruptly. “I mean—what I mean is that I really wish I had a griffon to ride in on now. It would distract from how painfully unqualified to deal with all of this I am.”

“You are not unqualified,” Solas assured her.

Ny’ari let out a laugh that was part hysteria and part despair. She turned and quickly made her way back to camp in the dark, her ability a credit to the ability of the Dalish (whatever their flaws) to impart the secrets of physical superiority to their children. 

Solas stayed where he was for several more minutes. The Herald would be all right in the end, he told himself, but it was more wanting than truly believing. She was more open-minded than the rest of her people, charmingly curious, which boded well for her adaptability. She was actually a rather likable girl, all things considered. 

She might be persuaded to see the necessity of his plans. To have someone like her as an ally… But first, she would have to learn to accept certain unpleasant realities. In any case, any potential recruitment would have to wait until the Breach was sealed; nothing justified distracting her from that task.

When Solas returned to camp, Ny’ari was not sitting by the fire with Varric and Cassandra.

“She went to bed as soon as she got back,” Varric told him in response to a questioning look.

“I see,” Solas replied with a glance at the Herald’s tent. “I shall be retiring myself, then.” He was in no mood to be stuck in the middle of whatever it was that passed for friendship between Varric and the Seeker. 

“Hey, Chuckles,” Varric said as Solas turned toward his own tent. “She’s gonna be all right, isn’t she?”

Solas paused to choose his words. “She simply needs time,” he said.

Cassandra grunted as if to say there was no time. She was more right than she knew—there was no telling when Corypheus would be in a position to cause trouble again—but pushing Ny’ari until she ran away home to the false security of her clan was not an answer either.

Solas ducked into his tent without acknowledging the Seeker’s reaction. She wouldn’t listen even if he stayed to explain his thoughts on the matter. She had made it plain that his opinions only mattered as regarded the mysteries of the Breach. 

That was perfectly fine with him. Staying aloof was so much easier than watching how small the world and its people had become. The Fade felt better, less damaged somehow. He did not deny the effect the Veil had had upon the spirits and their realm—it was substantial—but there was something left of what had come before there. Some spirits, quiet, careful ones, had endured almost unchanged over the many thousands of years while the elves, his people, were all but unrecognizable from his time: small and quick, sustained on myths and fear. 

It was tempting to just…keep dreaming. To return to uthenera and leave this broken world behind. But he couldn’t; tempted though he was, he couldn’t abandon the world again to suffer for his mistakes. He could fix it. Then, when it was done, he would rest.

The morning came too soon. Solas waited quietly in his tent for a good moment to emerge without attracting much attention. Still, he failed to avoid Varric’s sharp eye and the subtle glare from the Lavellan mage. Solas was still unsure what it was that had rendered Suran’s dislike of him so implacable, but he suspected it was the usual Dalish suspicion of a mage not trained in a clan and friendly with spirits. It was disappointing considering how welcoming Ny’ari had been, and Solas hoped without much anticipation that the information his agents were gathering on the Lavellan twins would help to smooth his interactions with the young man.

Ny’ari came up from the river, humming a tune. Solas didn’t know the song, but its cadence felt elvhen. She had either regained her composure or decided to feign it. Regardless, the change in her was impressive. 

She approached her brother and said something to him in her lilting Dalish elvhen. Each clan had developed its own take on the language of their ancestors, and Lavellan’s variation was one of the less unpleasant ones. It had become almost soothing to listen to the twins converse, even if they never had anything interesting to tell each other.

Cassandra returned to camp not long after. She and a scout had met and talked to one of the farmers. Dennet’s survival and location had been confirmed. It was time to get back to work.


End file.
